


BILL ARP: 



FROM THE 



Uncivil War 



TO DATE. 



J > , ' •> 



1861-1903 






ATI^ANTA, GA.: 

The Byrd Printing Company. 

1903. 



?^t^^ 



1 Ht LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

JAN 10 1903 

Copyright Entry 

CLASS C>^ XXc, No 

COPY B. 



Copyright 1902 

BY 

C. P. Byrd and C. H. Smith. 



All Rights Reserved. 



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CONTENTS. 



Chapter I. — A Pretty Story 9 

Chapter II. — My Birth, Youth and Manhood 22 

Chapter III. — Behind the Scenes 29' 

Chapter IV. — The Aristocracy and the Common People — 45 

Chapter V. — The Original ' ' Bill Arp ' ' - . 57 

Chapter VI. — ''Big John" 65 

Chapter VII. — The Eoman Eunagee 71 

Chapter VIII. — His Late Trials and Adventures 79 

Chapter IX. — Bill Arp Addresses Artemus Ward 87 

Chapter X. — Smoking the Pipe of Peace 92 

Chapter XL — Trials and Tribulations 99 

Chapter XII. — Love Affairs 105 

Chapter XIIL— Tells of His Wife 's Birthday 111 

Chapter XIV.— Mrs. Arp Goes Off on a Visit 116 

Chapter XV.— The Voice of Spring 123 

Chapter XVI. — The Sounds on the Front Piazza 128 

Chapter XVII. — Mr. Arp Feels His Inadequacy 134 

Chapter XVIIL— Uncle Bart 139 

Chapter XIX.— Cobe Talks a Little 142 

Chapter XX. — The Ups and Downs of Farming 147 

Chapter XXI. — The Family Preparing to Eeceive City 

Cousins 155 

Chapter XXII. — Bad Luck in the Family 161 

Chapter XXIIL— The Struggle for Money 168 

Chapter XXIV.— New Year's Time 179 

Chapter XXV. — Old Things are Passing Away, And All 

Things Have Become New . 185 

Chapter XXVL— But Once a Year 191 

Chapter XXVII. — Grandfather's Day — The Little Urchins 

of the Third Generation 204 



8 Contents. 

Chapter XXVIII. — Making Sausage 215 

Chapter XXIX.— The Old Trunk 222 

Chapter XXX. — On the Old Times, Alexander Stephens, 

etc 228 

Chapter XXXI.— Sticking to the Old 236 

Chapter XXXII. — A Prose Poem on Spring 242 

Chapter XXXIII.— Christmas on the Farm 247 

Chapter XXXIV. — Democratic Principles 252 

Chapter XXXV.— The Old School Days 258 

Chapter XXXVI. — Eoasting Ears and the Midnight Dance 272 

Chapter XXXVIL— Open House 277 

Chapter XXXVIII.— The Old Tavern 283 

Chapter XXXIX.— The Old-Time Darkeys 289 

Chapter XL. — Owls, Snakes and Whang-doodles 299 

Chapter XLI. — Music 305 

Chapter XLII. — The Autumn Leaves 315 

Chapter XLIIL— Uncle Tom Barker 321 

Chapter XLIV.— Bill Arp on Josh Billings 330 

Chapter XLV.— The Code Duello 335 

Chapter XLVI.— ''Billy in the Lovsr Grounds" 343 

Chapter XLVII.— William Gets Left 348 

Chapter XLVIII. — Pleasures of Hope and Memory 354 

Chapter XLIX — Arp's Eeminiscenses of Fifty Years 360 

Chapter L. — ''A Mother is a Mother Still, the Holiest 

Thing Alive" 370 

Chapter LI. — Good People, But They Don't Understand-- 375 

Chapter LII. — American Slavery — Its Origin 380 

Chapter LIII. — Children a Heritage from the Lord 385 

Chapter LIV.— William and His Wife Visit the City 391 

Chapter LV, — The Buzzard Lope 397 

Chapter LVL— Up Among the Stars 404 



Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER I. 

My dear young friends: Let me tell you a pretty 
story. Just a hundred years ago there was a young 
man hanged in Dublin, Ireland, for committing trea- 
son against the English government. His name was 
Robert Emmet, and his crime was that of organizing a 
rebellion which was intended to set Ireland free from 
the dominion of England and to place his native land 
among the nations as free and independent. The re- 
bellion failed, and its leaders had to escape for their 
lives. Emmet was one of the most eloquent and gifted 
men in all the land. He graduated with high honors 
at Trinity College, and at this time was engaged to be 
married to Miss Curran, the beautiful daughter of the 
great Irish lawyer, John Phil pot Curran. After the 
rebellion was crushed he fled to France, where he re- 
mained for two years, and then, in disguise, went back 
to Ireland to marry the lady he loved and bring her 
to the United States. But English detectives were on 
his track and arrested him. He was tried, convicted 
and hanged, and his afnaneed died of a broken heart. 
His speech made in his own defense was the most elo- 
quent, pathetic and partiotic ever delivered in any 
court room. I used to speak part of it when I was a 
schoolboy, and still recall the last sentence, "When 
I am dead let no man write my epitaph — until Ireland 
is free let not my epitaph be written. ' ' 



10 Bill Arp. 

This is enough of Robert Emmet, but it is only a 
pointer to my story. Among Emmet's college com- 
panions and his comrades in the rebellion were two 
brothers whose names were James and Patrick Ma- 
guire. They were the younger sons of Sir Francis 
Maguire, a member of Parliament and a very wealthy 
gentleman. He did not favor the rebellion, but could 
not control his younger boys. They, too, had to flee 
the country, and did so in a vessel that their father 
bought and equipped for that purpose. They came to 
Charleston, S. C, in 1803 and began business as linen 
merchants. In the course of a year or two Patrick 
sold his interest and changed his abode, but James 
continued the business and married Emily Barret. 
Two children were born to them, James and Caroline. 
When these children were nine and seven years of age 
the yellow fever visited Charleston, and in a brief 
time swept half of the population into their graves. 
Maguire and his wife died almost simultaneously, 
and were buried by night in the same grave — for all 
night long the hearses and dead carts were rumbling 
over the cobble stones, their tires bound in bagging to 
smother the noise. 

Now, my children, this brings me to the saddest 
and sweetest part of my story. The pestilence was 
awful. All who could fly from it did so, but there 
were thousands who had nowhere to go or who could 
not leave the dead and dying in their own households. 
A good man came and took James, the boy, to his 
home, and a good woman took Caroline. Next morn- 



Bill Arp. 11 

ing an order was issued that all children who had no 
homes should be put on board the vessels that were 
anchored near the city and sent to some other port. 
In the confusion there was no effort made to keep 
brothers and sisters together, and James was placed 
on board a brig bound for Boston, and Caroline on a 
schooner under sail for Savannah, but neither knew 
what had become of the other. Just imagine their 
grief and desolation. Alone in the wide world — no 
father or mother, no kindred, no loving friends ! 
After a stormy voyage the brig reached Boston, where 
the boy was placed in an orphan asylum. Caroline 
was landed in Savannah and found a home in an 
asylum there. The matrons in charge of each were 
good and kind, but the children's eyes were red and 
their pillows wet with weeping. They were just old 
enough to realize what they had lost. 

Now, let us skip over two or three years. When 
James was ten years old, a wealthy gentleman, a man- 
ufacturer of boots and shoes who lived at Randolph, 
fifteen miles east of Boston, came to the asylum to 
choose a boy to v^ait on him in his counting room. 
James was a bright and handsome lad, and the gentle- 
man, whose name was Burwell, chose him and took 
him home with him. He proved to be' the very boy he 
wanted, and grew into favor. Part of the time he was 
sent to school and learned rapidly, and in a few years 
was taken into partnership, and the old gentleman 
gave him his only daughter for a wife. Young Ma- 
guire was a good man, loved and respected by all who 



12 BiLii Arp. 

knew him, but at times he was sad, very sad, because 
of his lost sister. Twice he had visited Charleston 
and made diligent search, but found no clue. He 
found the very house he was born in and where his 
parents died, but new people lived in it and the neigh- 
bors were all new. An old negro woman remembered 
the Maguires, and said she washed for them, but that 
was all. She thought that the fever "got 'em all," 
she said. 

I said that young Maguire was popular with the 
people. So much so that when he was only twenty- 
six years old he vv^as elected State Senator, and be- 
came well acquainted with Daniel Webster and Rufus 
Choate and Judge Story. 

Now 3^ou know, my young friends, in a small vil- 
lage like Randolph everybody knew all about every- 
body, and could tell where they came from. And so 
it was very generally known that Maguire had lost 
his sister and had not a relative in the wide world 
that he knew of, and how he had sought for her, but 
in vain, and why it was that at times he seemed so 
sad and distressed. Well, he lived in a beautiful home 
in Randolph, and right across the street lived his 
most intimate friend and neighbor, whose name was 
Wales. Wales knew all his sorrows and could weep 
over them too. 

But what of little Caroline, ''The Flower of Dum- 
blane," as they used to call her in her childhood — 
for she was as lovely in disposition as she was beauti- 
ful ? She had to tell her sad story in tears to the good 



Bill Arp. 13 

matron — and the good woman cried too, and the or- 
phans cried, for it was a sadder case, if possible, than 
any of theirs. 

But Time is a good doctor, and after a few days 
Caroline became interested in her new home, and her 
broken heart began to heal and went out in love to 
the matrons and the many children who were her com- 
panions. She had been there about two years when 
one day a fine lady came there in a fine carriage, and 
after introducing herself to the matron, she said she 
came to see if she could not get a nice pretty orphan 
girl to go and live with her and keep her company. 
That she lived on a rice plantation in Liberty county 
— that her children had grown up and married and 
moved too far away, and that her name was Goulding, 
the mother of Dr. Goulding, the Presbyterian preach- 
er, and the grandmother of Frank, who wrote "The 
Young Marooners." It was not an unusual thing 
for good people to come and choose a child and take 
her away and adopt her, but it was always a sad time 
and made solemn and serious impression upon them. 
They knew that one of their number had to go, and 
that they would see her no more, perhaps forever — 
which one — ^which one, they wondered, and each one 
said maybe it will be me, and the thought alarmed 
them. They were happy where they were, and a 
change to some one they did not know, filled their 
hearts with fear. Well, the fine lady was shown to 
the large reception room where the children had to 
gather on such occasions. The children had of course 



14 Bill Arp. 

to put on their best garments, which were all in uni- 
form, and wash their faces and brush their hair, a;nd 
they marched in and were seated on the benches that 
were next to the walls of the large room. Then the 
grand lady walked around slowly and talked to every 
one she fancied, and said kind, pleasant words and 
asked them many questions. It was soon noticed that 
every time she went around she stopped longer with 
little Caroline than any other, and after the third 
round she turned to the matron and said, * ' I will take 
this one." The little girl trembled like an aspen leaf. 
Her heart beat rapidly, and tears filled her eyes. 
With the other girls the agony was over, but they 
grieved that Caroline was chosen, for they loved her 
very dearly. The matron, too, was sad as she kissed 
her a last goodbye — her heart was too full to speak it. 
It was a tearful scene as the orphans, every one of 
whom had her own sad experience, marched to Caro- 
line and kissed her farewell. 

But she was soon in the fine carriage with the fine 
lady, and a fine team of horses were gaily trotting 
down the avenue. They reached the lady's home that 
evening, a»d Caroline found everything so strange 
and singular that for a time she forgot the change in 
her condition. There was a grand old mansion in a 
grove of evergreens. All along the way she had seen 
the beautiful magnolias and caught the fragrance of 
the yellow jessamine, and now she inhaled the sweet 
odor of the cape jessamine that came from a long 
row that berdered the carriage way and adorned the 



Bill Arp. 15 

walks near the house. Not far away were the barns 
and rice mills, and another for the sugar cane, and 
still further off were long lines of negro houses — all 
just alike and whitewashed, and each with a garden 
attached. 

But alas! not a white child was to be seen nor a 
white person, save Mrs. Goulding and herself. Scores 
of little negroes were playing around the cabin yards, 
and they came near and looked curiously at the little 
white girl that "Old Mistis" had brought home with 
her. After supper Caroline soon grew tired from her 
journey and was put to bed, where she again wet the 
pillows with her tears, but soon dropped to sleep. 
The morning was bright and the country air was 
balmy, and she brightened with the day. About a 
mile away there lived a family of Allstons, who had 
recently moved from South Carolina. They were 
good people, and closely related to the family of 
Washington Allston, the great painter, who married 
Theodosia, the daughter of Aaron Burr, and who 
was drowned at sea or murdered by pirates. Her 
sad fate is still unknown. With the children of this 
Allston family Caroline soon got intimate, and Mr. 
Allston, when on a visit to Charleston, made diligent 
effort to find some clew to her lost brother, but found 
none. 

Mrs. Goulding was very desirous of sending Caro- 
line to school, but there was none near enough. And 
so Mr. Allston went to Savannah to look around and 
if possible to secure a teacher. 



16 Bill Arp. 

Now, children, listen, for we have come to another 
branch of this story. About the year 1817 a young 
man, whose name was Reid, a native of Vermont, was 
teaching school in a little town in Massachusetts. He 
was smart and energetic and saved his money. One 
of his young friends told him one day that they could 
charter a sloop and make a big lot of money shipping 
brick to Savannah. Brick were cheap in Newberry- 
port and brought a high price in Savannah. They 
put their money together, bought the cargo, hired 
four sailors, and set sail. The voyage was prosper- 
ous until they neared the port. Then a terrific storm 
came up, and for fear of losing their vessels and 
their lives, they had to throw a good part of the 
cargo into the sea. They had barely enough brick 
left to sell for sufficient money to pa}'' off the sailors 
and send the sloop back to its owners. Young Reid's 
companions got discouraged and homesick and went 
back with it; but Reid was too game a young man 
to go back without a dollar in his pocket. So he 
hired to a grocery merchant as a porter, and did his 
work so well and faithfully that he soon grew into 
favor and was promoted to the counting room. It 
was about this time that Mr. Allston visited the city 
in search of a teacher, and it so happened that this 
merchant was his friend and factor. He gave Reid 
a very high character, and told him he was a good 
scholar and had taught school up North. He hated 
to give him up, but Reid desired to go, and he was 
soon on his way to Liberty county. A good schooi 



Bill Arp. 17 

was made np for liim at once, and Caroline became 
one of his scholars. In that day the teachers board- 
ed around among their patrons, staying a week or 
more with each family; and so Reid soon learned 
all about Caroline's sad history, and his tender heart 
went out in sympathy for her. She was then thir- 
teen years old, well grown for her age, and was 
lovely in form and feature. She was modest in be- 
havior and at times seemed sad almost to tears. 
Reid took great interest in her, and she soon became 
one of his brightest scholars. 

But change is written on everything in this world, 
and so it happened that when Caroline became four- 
teen years old and had a right under the law to 
choose her own guardian, she went into court and 
chose Mr. Allston and became an inmate of his fam- 
ily. She was so lonely with the old lady, and besides 
the old lady had married again — a Mr. "Williamson 
— and they did not live harmoniously together, and 
each contended for the guardianship of Caroline. 
It was young Reid, hovv^ever, who took Caroline into 
his confidence and advised her to choose Mr. Allston. 
About this time the State of Georgia bought from 
the Creek Indians all their land in the up country 
and had them surveyed and opened up to settlers. 
Then there begun a great exodus of low country 
people up to the new purchase, v\^here mountains and 
valleys and fast flowing streams abounded. Mr. All- 
ston took the up country fever and prepared his 
household to move. He did move, and of course 

(2) 



18 Bill Arp. 

Caroline had to go with the family. She bade her 
teacher goodbye and wept upon his bosom. He 
never knew till then how much he loved her. At 
the end of his school term he too took the up country 
fever, but finding a good opening at Mt. Vernon, in 
Montgomery county, he stopped there and taught for 
a year and laid up a little more money. Mr. All- 
ston had settled on a creek, a few miles east from 
Decatur, and was engaged in building log houses 
and clearing land. He had built a large double log 
cabin, with shed rooms attached, and had moved 
into it. He concluded to christen the new home with 
a frolic, and so one bright moonshiny night he had 
all of the neighbors invited to come over and have 
music and perhaps a country dance. But Caroline 
did not seem to enjoy it. Most of the time she sat 
in the piazza and seemed anxious and melancholy. 
A spirit whispered to her that Reid was coming, 
she always declared, and she could not get rid of the 
expectation. And sure enough, about nine o'clock, 
she saw a man riding slowly up the road-way, and 
when quite near he dismounted and hitched his horse. 
She did not wait for him, but, with a cry of joy, 
rushed out to meet him and threw herself gladly 
into his arms. Once again she had found her best 
friend. 

Now, children, we must skip some, for this story 
is getting too long. A young man by the name of 
Featherstone had married Mr. AUston's eldest 
daughter. He was a merchant, and was living in 



Bill Arp. 19 

Lawrenceville, about twenty miles away. Reid was 
expecting to make up a school in that little town, 
but Featherstone persuaded him to join him in his 
mercantile business, for it had outgrown his capital, 
and Reid's money was just what was wanted. Some- 
times Mr. Allston or some of his family came to 
Lawrenceville and Caroline came with them. Some- 
times Reid rode out there Saturday evening and 
spent the Sabbath. And so the love affair progressed 
smoothly, and when Caroline was sweet sixteen they 
were married at Mr. Featherstone 's house in the good 
old town of Lawrenceville. When Caroline was 
asked why she married so young, she always said, 
**Why, I didn't dare to refuse. He was my teacher, 
and I was taught to obey him." 

Well, now, we will skip over some more. Tn 
course of time two children were born to them, two 
fine, handsome boys, and Caroline was happy, always 
happy, except at times when the image of her lost 
brother came before her. Reid had already adver- 
tised him in all of the Southern papers and in New 
York and Philadelphia. One day when he came 
home he found that she had been weepingj, and he 
resolved to make one more effort. So he sent an 
advertisement to a Boston paper and one to St. 
Louis and New Orleans. 

Now, let us go back to the little town of Randolph 
and see what Mr. Wales is doing. It was Sunday 
morning, and he was not feeling well and did not 
go to church. He had on his gown and slippers and 



20 Bill Arp. 

cap, and had Inid down om llio sofa to read his Bos- 
ton paper. That advertisement was ahnost the first 
thinp: that cauj^ht his eye. 

''James F. Ma^uire, whose parents died of yellow 
fever in Charleston in the summer of 1815, and who 
was separated from his only sister, Caroline, during 
the panic, can hear from her by addressing the un- 
dersigned at Lawrenceville, Georgia. She is well 
and happy." 

"Wales read it and re-read it, and suddenly realizing 
what it meant rose rip, and, with i\w paper in his 
hand, rushed wildly across the street to Maguire's 
house. Nobody was there. They had all gone to 
church, which was only two blocks away. Wales did 
not stop, but hurried up the street and into the side 
door of the church, which was near the Maguire 
pew. The minister had begun to read the hymn 
but Wales never stopped nor considered his apparel, 
but cried out in a delirium of joy, "Maguire, I've 
found your sister. Thank God I have. Here she is 
sure, and is alive and well. Thank the good Lord 
for his mercies," and being overcome with his own 
emotions he sat down and wept. The minister 
stopped, of course, and came down to hear the paper 
read. Half the congregation gathered near while 
Maguire read the advertisement, and had others lo 
read it aloud. He trembled like an aspen leaf and 
said, "That is Caroline and no mistake. Bless the 
Lord for his goodness unto me," and he knelt down 



Bill Arp. 21 

in silent prayer and sobbed in tears of joy, for tears 
are signs of joy as well as grief. 

Enough of that. Yon young people, whose hearts 
are tender and full of emotions, must imagine the 
rest, and you will be more ready to believe that when 
the Lord said over and over again in the scriptures, 
"I am the God of the fatherless and the widow," He 
meant it. 

Now, this is about all of my story except that I 
have failed to mention that Reid's name was Asahel 
Reid Smith. He was my father, and Caroline was 
my own dear mother. I was seven years old then, 
and cannot forget the delirious joy of that meeting 
after a separation of eighteen years. My bix)ther 
James was nine years old, and our uncle had t^vo 
boys of a like age with us. For years the brothei* 
and sister and their children visited and re-visited 
each other. Their eldest son, in course of time, 
established a branch of his father's shoe business at 
Melbourne, Australia. The last letter from him 
said that he had married a sweet English lady and 
thirty thousand sheep. He was our American con- 
sul over there under Pierce and Buchanan. He is 
dead. Almost everybody is dead but me. 



22 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER II. 

And now a brief mention of my wife and myself 
— my birth and youth and manhood. On the 15tli 
day of June, 1826, half a million children were born 
into the world and I was one of them. In the 
pleasant village of Lawrenceville, Gwinnett country, 
Georgia, I first saw the light. My infancy was not 
unlike that of other children, except that sometimes 
I had little fits of passion and threw myself upon the 
floor or bumped my head against the wall, at which 
my mother smiled and sometimes said I couldn't 
help it, for it was South Carolina fighting Massa- 
chusetts. My childhood was happy, and so were my 
school days. I still have fond recollections of my 
teachers. Miss Cooley, an aunt of Mrs. George 
Hillyer's, was the first one. She was good and kind 
to us all. Then came Dr. Wilson and Mr. Saye, 
John Norton and Dr. Patterson and Mr. McAlpin in 
succession. I was a mischevious lad, and Mr. Nor- 
ton whipped me occasionally — not hard but lightly 
— once he whipped me on my boil and bursted it, and 
nearly broke my mother's heart, but it was good for 
the boil. My teachers are all dead. A few years 
ago old Father Saye called to see me in Chester, S. 
C, and as he grasped my hand said, "Yes, you went 
to school to me, and I never whipped you but once. 
Perhaps if I had whipped you more you would have 



Bill Arp. 23 

made a better man — but I am proud of you, my boy. 
Yes, I am proud of you." 

In course of time I was sent to the manual labor 
institute, two miles away, where I mingled with the 
boys of the best families of the State. The Gould- 
ings. Holts, Hoyles, Allans, Alexanders, Lintons and 
Crawfords and others. They are all dead but two 
that I know of. My father was a merchant, and 
when I was nearly grown he gave me a clerk's place 
in his store, and I sold goods for two or three years. 
About this time of course I fell in love, and dressed 
better and brushed my hair with a cowlick touch 
and wore boots and smiled sweetly on my sweet- 
hearts as they passed. When I was nineteen I was 
sent to college at Athens, and found a new sweet- 
heart there. She played and toyed with me while 
she was secretly engaged to another fellow. When 
I was senior my father was taken seriously ill, and 
called me home to take charge of his business. So 
I went to selling goods again. In the meantime a 
pretty, hazel-eyed lassie I had only known as a child 
had grown out of her pantalets and into long dresses, 
and was casting sly glances at the boys about town. 
I imagined she cast some at mCi, for she liked to 
trade at my store and was in no hurry to go, and 
was pleased to buy what I advised her and never 
asked the price. She was a bashful brunette, with 
hair as black as that of Pocahontas, and it is yet, 
and her name was Mary Octavia, the eldest daugh- 
ter of Judge Hutchins. Of course it didn't take 



24 Bill Arp. 

me long to fall desperately in love, nor did it take 
a long siege for me to take that fort, for I was a 
right handsome youth myself, and was smart and 
doing well. What better does a pretty girl want? 
Yes, I found that pearl, and did not throw it away 
like Othello. I've got it yet. From the beginning 
I knew that she loved me, and I never had to plead 
or get on my knees — nor did I ever ask her to have 
me, but one moonlight night as we were walking I 
said, "Octavia, when shall we get married?" and, as 
she pressed my hand, she whispered, "Whenever 
you think best." It was like the murmur of a 
dream, but I heard it. Now she will deny all this, 
but nevertheless it is the truth, and so within three 
months we were wedded. I knew very well that 
with her parents I was an acceptable lover, for my 
mother had found it out from her mother, and every- 
thing was calm and serene. She was sweet 
sixteen and I was twenty-one. I took her young, 
thinking I could train her to suit my notion, but 
she soon trained me to suit her's. 

Now, my young friends, that was nearly fifty-four 
years ago. I was one of ten children; my wife was 
one of ten. We have ten all living, and they have 
twenty, and just keep on multiplying and replenish- 
ing according to scripture. My brothers are dead. 
I have three sisters living, who are very dear to 
me. Well, I built a little cottage in a pretty grove 
and we moved there. Judge liutchins had a large 
plantation on the river, and over a hundred slaves. 



Bill Arp. 25 

He did not offer us any money, for he knew we did 
not need it, but sent up two of the favorite family 
servants, and Tip, the same faithful Tip of whom 
I have written, Vv'as one of them. They begged old 
master to give them to ''Miss Tavy," and he did 
so. A few months after our marriage Judge Hutch- 
ins insisted that I should study law, for he needed 
a young man's help in his office. So I placed my 
mercantile interests in other hands and began to 
peruse Blackstone. In two or three months I was 
admitted to the bar on promise of continuing my 
studies, which promise I kept, and in due time be- 
gan to ride the circuit at the tail of the procession. 
And what a procession it was! Judge Junius Hill- 
yer. Judge Jackson, the Doughteyrs, Hope Hull, 
Howell Cobb and his brother Tom Cobb, Cincinnatus 
Peeples, Basil Overby, and meeting occasionally 
Robert Toombs and Alex Stephens. All great law- 
yers and eloquent, both in the forum and on the 
platform. They are all dead, and I, only I, am 
left. Then there were the Judges of the Supreme 
Court, Lumpkin, Warner and Nesbit, whom I well 
knew, for somehow all of these noble men made a 
pet of me, and from them I drew inspiration and 
knowledge. 

In 1851 I took the Western fever, and moved to 
Rome to grow up with the town and the country. 
I Vvas soon associated with Judge Underwood in the 
practice of law, and for thirteen years we were as 
intimate as brothers. The war came and we parted. 



26 Bill Arp. 

After the war I became associated with Judge Joel 
Branham, another most delightful partnership, 
which was only severed by his elevation to the 
bench. 

And now in my old age I cannot say as Jacob 
said to Pharoah, ''Few and evil have been the days 
of the years of my pilgrimage." We have had 
more than our share of blessings. We have been 
blessed with health and the comforts of life. Of 
course the war made an inroad upon our peace and 
happiness for a time, but the good Lord preserved 
us and we suffered no dire calamity or affliction. 
My motto is that of the Latin poet, ''Carpe diem" 
enjoy the day, enjoy every day as far as possible. 

We have been blessed in our children, for they 
have been good to us. Our boys are all in good form 
and feature — not a single deformity to mar their 
manhood. Our girls are modest and well favored. 
Not a Leah among them — all are Rachels — all are 
frugal and industrious, and love their paternal 
home. It is their Mecca, and will be until we die. 

For twenty-seven years we lived in Rome and 
prospered. Then we retired to a beautiful little 
farm near Cartersville, where there were springs 
and branches, a meadow and a creek near by, with a 
cane-brake border. Not far away was a mill and 
a pond, and there was a mountain in the back-ground 
where small game abounded. There we raised Jer- 
sey cows and colts and sheep and chickens and pea- 
fowls, and lived well by day and feasted on music 



Bill Arp. 27 

by night, for every member of the family is a 
musician, which art they inherited from their moth- 
er. It was a lovely home, and all the younger chil- 
dren grew up there to manhood and womanhood, and 
were happy. Their schooling was not neglected, 
though I could not send but one boy and one girl 
to college. It was on the farm that the boys learned 
what a dollar was worth when they earned it. 

But by and by and one by one the boys left us 
for other avocations, and five of the six now live 
in five different States from New York to Mexico. 
As I had to be away a good portion of my time, my 
wife and daughters were left without a protector, 
so I moved to this town of Cartersville and bought 
this pleasant home, which we call "The Shadows," 
because it is embowered by the shade of many beauti- 
ful trees. This is all. We are still in the land of 
the living, where mercy may be sought and pardon 
found. 

Enough of this. It savors of self-conceit and van- 
ity to write so much about myself, and I feel that 
what I am or what I have done should be told by 
another. But what is writ is writ. 



Note. — Some of ' ' Bill Arp 's ' ' friends wish that he had 
been less modest, difl&dent and unassuming, it being a favorite 
contention that with the assurance, self -laudation and preten- 
tious aggressiveness of the times, supported by his profound 
knowledge and philosophic temperament, he could have attained 
high political honors or achieved the loftiest eminence in our 
judiciary. Others who love him better prefer him as he was and 



28 Bill Arp. 

is. He could not be as he is if he had not been as he was. The 
''Cherokee Philosopher" is dearer to us than would be the 
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, or ''governor," or "sen- 
ator, " or " Mr. President. ' ' We love him for the offices he 
has avoided, the political entanglements he has escaped. While 
there are millions struggling for political office, from a door- 
keepership in a police court to the Presidency, "Bill Arp" 
stands alone in the dignity of a personal office to which he has 
been elected by a universal suffrage of hearts touched and 
mellowed by a physical sympathy wholly unknown in the field 
of political stress and strain. He is the elect of a people who 
could see no other possible candidate for the place he fills. He 
is neither soiled nor spoiled, except by the little tenderness of 
legions who seek opportunity to show a sort of filial reverence 
for the patriarch. Mrs. Arp knows his faults, chief of which 
is that he likes to be petted. The introduction he received at 
Tupelo, Miss., most tenderly expresses his relation to the South- 
ern people. The speaker said in conclusion, "I cannot say 
that Bill Arp is the greatest man nor the best man, nor the 
most eloquent man, but I truthfully say that he is the best 
loved man in all the Southland. " V. S. 



Bill Arp. 29 



CHAPTER III. 



Behind the Scenes. 

''All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely 
players. ' ' 

The civil war was a play, a thrilling tragedy, in 
which great armies were the players and the world 
the witnesses. But in every play there are perform- 
ances behind the scenes that the footlights do not 
shine upon nor the audience have any knowledge oC. 
There are prompters and properties, dressing and un- 
dressing, false hair and false faces, weapons and 
banners, and machinery for thunder and lightning. 
There is hurrying to and fro,, and sometimes subdued 
altercations, jealousies and envyings. Sometimes 
there is real rivalry and real love transpiring behind 
the scenes while it is mimicked and played in front. 
The acts and deeds of r/iankind are open and visible 
to the world; their motives are behind the scenes. 
The greater part of life — the better part and the 
worse — is invisible to the world. Our domestic rela- 
tions, fireside pleasures, family dissensions, our joys 
and sorrows, desires and ambitions, yes, our secret 
thoughts that harbor hate or cherish love are all be- 
hind the scenes, known only to a few or to ourselves 
alone. 



30 Bill Arp. 

I propose now to touch briefly upon some things 
that were behind the scenes before and during the 
civil war — some things that have not been published 
and which present a vivid contrast to the glory of a 
soldier's life. These are war times and it is well 
enough to exhibit the picture to the young men of the 
South and let them ponder upon it and draw the line 
between a war of patriotic duty and one of conquest 
and glory. This part of my address will be brief and 
is intended chiefly for the entertainment of the veter- 
ans who still live, for you know that while the capital 
stock of youth is hope, that of age is memory. 

Early in the year 1861, when secession was the 
great and vital question that agitated our people, a 
convention was called to decide whether Georgia 
would follow South Carolina's lead, or not. All of 
the young men, nearly all of the women, and many 
of the old men, were outspoken for secession, even 
though it provoked a war. There was a party, how- 
ever, with Alexander Stephens as a leader, who pre- 
ferred co-operation and did not wish Georgia to se- 
cede alone, but favored a convention of delegates 
frbm all the Southern States and let them all go out 
together or remain in the Union. This party, hoAV- 
ever, was too feeble to stem the tide of resistance to 
Northern aggression, and so the delegates from every 
county gathered at the capital. 

There was a Union element among the delegates. 
It was composed of old men who had property and 
did not wish it imperiled by war, and there were 



Bill Arp. 31 

some non-slaveholders who were not in sympathy 
with the slaveholders' policy or alarmed by their 
fears. 

There were a few strong men who were for the old 
flag and the Union above all other considerations. 
Of this class Herschel Johnson was the leader. He 
was one of the great men of Georgia. Tie was on the 
ticket for Vice-President when Stephen A. Douglass 
ran for President. He was a man of sluggish, pon- 
derous mind, not easily excited by ordinary events, 
but when aroused from his legarthy by some vital 
issue he had no equal in Georgia. He was called the 
sleeping Sampson, and his political foes used all their 
arts to keep him asleep. He was opposed to seces- 
sion, and went as a delegate to the convention. 
Toombs and his party dreaded him and feared the 
power of his eloquence. "Old Sampson is aroused," 
said Toombs, "and the boys must look out." John- 
son began to speak just before twelve and was fairly 
getting under way, and knocking out the props upon 
which secession leaned, when he was interrupted by 
Albert Lamar, the secretary, and a suggestion made 
to adjourn for dinner. At the dining wine was 
served, and Johnson, being pressed by Lamar and his 
friends, drank too freely. He lost his mental bal- 
ance and the remainder of his speech fell flat and 
tame and unfinished. After his death, Lamar, who 
was editor of the Macon Telegraph, wrote up the un- 
written fraud and published it, boasting how he 
drugged the wine at the dinner table, and that if it 



32 Bill Arp. 

had not been done the old lion would have carried 
the majority of the delegates with him as easily as 
a tornado carries the trees in its track. "But for 
those two drinks," said Lamar, "Georgia would not 
have seceded and there would have been no war." 

"Whether this be true or not true is of no great 
concern, for if no war then it would have come 
later. There was no averting it as long as the negro 
was here in slavery. 

And so Georgia seceded and prepared for war, and 
her sister States followed in quick succession. "While 
the new regiments were forming the State was one 
vast recruiting camp. The call of the drum resound- 
ed from mountain to seaboard. Men, women and 
children participated in the general enthusiasm. 
Beautiful banners were being made by womanly fin- 
gers and presented to the companies with womanly 
benedictions. W^hy is it, my friend, why is it, that 
loving, pitying, tender-hearted woman, who will not 
willingly tread upon a worm, is always first and fore- 
most in urging their husbands, brothers, sons, to bat- 
tle for their country or their section? It is a fact 
that but for the smiles of mothers, wives, sisters and 
sweethearts, Georgia would never have sent 100,000 
soldiers to the front. I did not visit "Virginia, in 
June, 1861, with any intention of joining the army, 
but I did join while there and knew full well that my 
wife would weep but still be proud of it. Her five 
brothers were already there, and the wonder of it is 
that she was not there herself, playing the role of 



Bill Arp. 33 

Joan of Arc. But she had a lively time of it at home 
three years later and saw enough of war, for she had 
to flee from the foul invader with five little children 
tagging after her. She paused in Atlanta, but only 
for a day — just long enough to catch breath and start 
again. Then she made a good, long run down to 
Tuskegee, in the secluded shades of Alabama, the 
State ^ whose beautiful name means "here we rest.'' 
But it was no resting place for her, for Wilson 's raid- 
ers were on the wild hunt for rebels and refugees, 
and so she departed those coasts with alacrity and 
sought retreat and safety at her father's plantation 
on the upper Chattahoochee. She left almost every- 
thing behind her when she fled from Rome that dark 
and dismal night. The house was full of furniture, 
the pantry full of good things, the smoke-house full 
of meat and lard and a barrel of home-made soap. 
I believe she made more ado about losing that soap 
than anything, for she had made it in the dark of the 
moon and stirred it from left to right with a sassa- 
fras paddle while it was boiling. But in her wild 
haste she forgot some things that were very precious. 
She forgot the package of love letters that I wrote 
her during my courtship, in which I promised many 
things that she declares I have ceased to perform 
since she lost them. She forgot the letters that I 
wrote home from the army, many of them containing 
graphic descriptions of the battles and who of our 
home boys were killed and who were wounded, and 
they were read aloud to the people from her front 



34 Bill Arp. 

door as soon as she received them. I would give 
money for those letters now. She forgot lier album 
— her maiden's treasure, in which her friends and 
lovers, including myself, had written tender verses. 
These were all given up as lost, but in December, 
1884, she received the album, with these lines in- 
scribed on the last page: 

''Franklin, Pa., Dec. 22d, 1884. 

"With pleasure I return this book to its rightful 
owner. I came in possession of it while marching 
through Georgia with Sherman's army. I became 
attached to it for the sentiment contained in the 
verses, and I sent it to a lady friend. Miss Downs, 
in Sparta, Ohio. She married and moved away and 
has just returned the book to me after twenty years' 
possession. My wish is that the rightful owner may 
preserve its pages and hand it down to posterity. 
''Respectfully, 

E. A. Wilson.'' 

That man is a gentleman, if he did belong to Sher- 
man's army, but it took him a long time to reform. 

Shortly after I joined the army, I was appointed 
brigade commissary on the staff of General Bartow. 
I had no military forms or papers, no money where- 
with to purchase supplies, and I had not yet drawn 
or issued a single ration, for I had just been appointed. 
I was green, and was waiting for money and advices 
to come from Richmond. After we had crossed the 
Shenandoah river. General Bartow told me to ride on 
ahead until I reached Marshall, a small village, and 



Bill Arp. 3^ 

there procure some fresh meat and some bacon for 
the boys to cook and eat when they arrived. *'Gen- 
eral(," said I, timidly, "how will I get these things? 
I have no money to buy them with. " * ' My dear sir, ' ' 
said he, "you must remember that this is war and 
everything in this country owes tribute to the army. 
Look around Marshall for three or four fat cattle — 
everything is fat up here — buy them at a fair price, 
and give the owner a receipt and a certificate and tell 
him to bring it to me when I get there and I will 
approve it so that he can draw his money at Rich- 
mond. Buy some good bacon, also, say a thousand 
pounds. The boys will want it to cook with their 
beef. This is war, I tell you. ' ' 

About that time I began to realize what war was, 
and that the civil law was silent, dead or sleeping, 
and that nobody had any rights save the generals and 
their officers. 

When I arrived at Marshall I found a farmer un- 
loading corn, and he had the finest, fattest yoke of 
oxen attached to his wagon that I ever saw. I 
stopped and saluted him. "Those are fine steers,-' 
said I, "what would buy them?" "Well, about one 
hundred dollars, I reckon," he replied. Then I 
made known my business, and soon found that he 
would not sell, nor would he take any scrap of pa- 
per on this here Southern Confedecy, as he called it. 
The argument was soon exhausted and time was pre- 
cious. By this time some butchers from the First 
Kentucky Regiment had arrived and were ready for 



36 Bill Arp. 

work. I pointed out the steers to them,, and before 
the farmer could say Jack Robinson they had them 
unyoked and were leading them to the branch. 
Amazement, indignation, anger, took it by turns over 
his features; then he began to use language — cuss 
words and expletives in abundance. Suddenly he 
swore he'd ruther die than be run over in any such 
way, army or no army. Then he cried and wiped 
the tears away with his coat sleeve. His last excla- 
mation was, "How in the hell am I to get my wagon 
home?" I was awfully sorry for that man. My 
hope is that he got his pay from the Federal govern- 
ment after the war. Well, I got the bacon without 
any trouble, for the merchant was a red-hot rebel 
and made me eat dinner with him. Those great 
oxen were killed and butchered and cut up into 
small mess pieces in less time than I can tell about it. 
Wood was hauled up and camp fires built, and by 
dark our brigade of four thousand men were full and 
had tumbled down to sleep. 

Well, I soon learned that war was war, and in 
course of time I could impress provisions with but 
little scruples of conscience. One time I impressed 
four hundred barrels of flour from a Union sympa- 
thizer in Orange county who had a merchant mill 
and was waiting to sell it to the Yankees for green- 
backs. His wife was a genuine rebel woman and 
treated rae so kindly on the sly that I gave back two 
hundred barrels of it. It was a case of Nabal and 
Abigail. 



Bill Arp. 37 

Impressment of provisions was nothing compared 
with the conscription of men and forcing them to 
fight and face the enemy, willing or unwilling, 
whether they were brave men or cowards. • There 
was the case of Jacob Wise, a rich Jew who lived in 
Rome and had neither wife nor children. When the 
conscription officers came to Rome he secreted him- 
self, and one night came to my house about midnighi; 
in tears. Trembling, he said, "Major, I vas porn a 
coward; I could not fight a leetle poy nor a von arm 
seek man. My legs vill turn around and run avay 
mid me efery time. I vas porn shust dot vay, and 
I will pay big money if you vill keep me out of dis 
old war. Oh^ mine Gott; oh, Abraham; oh, Isaac 
and Yacup." He excited my sympathies so much 
that I undertook to befriend him. There was an ex- 
amining board then sitting in the town, of whom Dr. 
Starr of Rome was the chairman. He was my friend 
and knew Wise well, and so I brought Wise over to 
be examined. Wise was ready to swear that he had 
consumption and rheumatism and epilepsy and apo- 
plexy and Bright 's disease and heart disease and any 
other disease ; but I juggled with Starr and we agreed 
that Wise should pay $5,000 to the county fund for 
the support of poor soldier's wives and children, and 
be discharged. Wise never hesitated a moment. Dr. 
Starr filled up a printed blank and named the dis- 
ease for which he was discharged in these Latin 
words; "Non controlus shankus in combatibus" — 
can't control his legs in battle. When we returned 



38 Bill Arp. 

home, Wise paid the money over to the county treas- 
urer and I gave him the certificate of discharge, but 
never explained the meaning of his remarkable dis- 
ease. 

But neither victories nor defeats are to be com- 
pared to the horrors of battle, the things that are 
behind the scenes and are never published. During 
the seven day's fight across the Chickahominy, hun- 
dreds of the dead were hastily buried in trenches, 
buried head to foot a foot or so under the surface, 
and the earth heaped over them ; for you must know, 
my friends, that on a battlefield there are neither 
shrouds nor graves, nor coffins nor mourners. 

Heavy rains came on and softened that earth to 
mud and when, a few days later, our wagons had to 
cross that field, the wheels sank to the hubs when 
crossing the trenches and sometimes a leg, sometimes 
an arm, and sometimes a ghastly skull was thrown 
up, as if beseeching for mercy. Another graphic 
scene I witnessed the night after the battle of Ma- 
nassas. The hospital chosen was a large brick build- 
ing near the battle-ground. It was property that 
had been vacated under military orders. But the 
surgeons' operating room was not there. It was in a 
willow glade, not far away, where there was a clear 
spring branch flowing peacefully along. Dr. Mil- 
ler ordered all the wounded brought there, for the 
night was beautiful and the water convenient. All 
night long he and his assistants amputated arms and 
legs, and probed for balls, and used bandages and 



Bill Arp. 39 

splints and other appliances, and as fast as one man 
was fixed up he was taken away and the doctor said 
"Next!" like in a barber shop. But there was no 
groaning. The boys were heroes under the surgeon's 
knife as well as on the battle-field. I remember when 
Jett Howard, of Kingston, limped up without assist- 
ance and the doctor said, "What's the matter with 
you, Jett?" Jett pointed to where a minie ball had 
penetrated his hip and said he could feel it on the 
other side. Quickly the doctor thrust a probe into 
the wound, and as quickly drew it out, and turning 
Jett around, and sounding for the ball under the 
skin, he found it. With his knife he cut an opening 
and thrusting in his finger pulled out the ball and 
gave it to him. "Here's your diploma, Jett," he 
said. "Next!" Jett limped away with a smile and 
had his wound dressed. When my brother-in-law, 
Captain Cooper, was brought up with a shattered leg, 
his knee pan crushed and his bones mangled, the doe- 
tor said, ' ' Fred, this leg must come off immediately, ' ' 
and he reached for his knife and his saw. "Stop, 
doctor!" exclaimed Fred, "Can't you save my leg?" 
"No; it is impossible," said he, "it must come off, I 
tell you." "Doctor, is there a possible chance for 
me to save this leg?" "Perhaps," said the doctor; 
"one chance in a hundred, but I warn you now that 
if it is not speedily cut off you will be a dead man 
in two weeks." Captain Cooper was full of nerve 
and faith. "Doctor, I will take that chance," he 



40 Bill Arp. 

said; and the doctor said "Next!" Fred was taken 
to the hospital that night and died in two weeks. 

Poor Tom King's leg was broken, and while it was 
being splinted lie was laughing and joking like a 
school boy. He lost only sixty days from the ser- 
vice and lived only to die at Chickamauga. 

On the sixth day of the Chickahominy fight, when 
McLellan was in full retreat, our brigade commander, 
Tige Anderson, sent me down the river to General 
Lee's headquarters for some instructions about mov- 
ing the brigade. I found him in a large wall tent 
with many officers around him. This tent opened 
into another where the camp tables were set for din- 
ner and the servant bringing it in. There were four 
or five large camp tables joined together, and as I 
sat upon my horse aAvaiting a reply, I saw a man, 
an officer, Avhose head and body were underneath the 
right hand table and his feet out upon the straw. 
His slouched hat was over his head and eyes, his 
sword not unbuckled, and his boots were on and 
spurred. His Confederate gray clothes seemed faded 
and worn. My curiosity was greatly excited, and 
when the adjutant handed me the instructions, I ven- 
tured to point to the sleeping man and to ask, ''Who 
is he?" ''That is Stonewall," he said; "he has had 
no sleep for forty-eight hours and fell down there 
exhausted. General Lee would not suffer him to be 
disturbed, and so our dinner will be eaten over him 
and in silence." Reverently I gazed upon him for a 
minute, for I felt almost like I was in the presence 



Bill Arp. 41 

of some divinity. What a scene for a painter was 
that — the two greatest generals of the army, yes, of 
the age, together; one asleep upon the strav/, worn 
out with fatigue and excitement, the camp tables set 
above him; while the other, with his staff, dined in 
silence over him and watched his needed rest. Both 
of them were patriots and Christians, and both of 
them were men of prayer. 

With them there were no selfish motives behind 
the scenes, but every act and deed and thought was 
for God and their country. I have long been grateful 
that I witnessed that scene, the bivouac of a sleep- 
ing hero, and I love to recall Palmer's beautiful lines: 

" We see him now — the old slouched hat 

Cocked over his eye askew. 
The shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat, 

So calm, so blunt, so true. 
The blue light elder knows 'em well; 

Says he, ' ' That 's Banks. He 's fond of shell. 
Lord save his soul. Now give him — , " well, 

That 's Stonewall Jackson 's way. 

Silence, ground arms, kneel all, caps off; 

Old Blue Light 's going to pray. 
Strangle the fool who dares to scoff 

At Stonewall Jackson 's way. 
He 's in the saddle now ; fall in, 

Steady, the whole brigade; 
Hill 's at the ford, cut off. Let 's win 

Him out with ball and blade. 



42 Bill Arp. 

Ah, maiden, wait, and watch and yearn 

For news of Stonewall's band; 
Ah, widow, read with eyes that burn 

That ring upon thy hand. 
Ah, wife, sew on, pray on, hope on. 

Thy life shall not be all forlorn ; 
The foe had better ne 'er been born, 

That gets in Stonewall's way. 



With many people on the border line, their loyalty 
rested on very delicate pivots. Which shall I work 
for, pray for, or fight for, was a serious and perplex- 
ing question. Fathers were separated from sons, and 
brothers from brothers. Mrs. Lincoln was a Miss 
Todd, of Kentucky, and all her brothers were in the 
Confederate service. I knew one of them well, for 
he was for months on the staff of our corps com- 
mander. He was of no force, just an ornament, and 
made himself disagreeable by his abuse of Old Abe, 
his brother-in-law. Mrs. Grant was interviewed last 
year in Saint Augustine and said her sympathies 
were with the South, but her interest was with her 
husband's choice. With many West Pointers there 
was no patriotic emotion. Fighting was their profes- 
sion, and position, pay and promotion their coveted 
reward. General Geo. C. Thomas, one of the ablest 
Federal generals, was a class-mate of General Joe 
Johnson, and like him was a Virginian of the Vir- 
ginians. When Johnson was made a major-general 
by Mr. Davis, Thomas sought a similar position, but 
was told the places were all filled and he would have 



Bill Arp. 43 

to wait. He did not wait, but was soon after offered 
that position by Mr. Lincoln and accepted it. Gen- 
eral Johnson told me of this at my house in '67 and 
was greatly mortified. General Grant had no sym- 
pathy with the anti-slavery feature of the war, for 
he was a slave-holder himself and hired them out in 
St. Louis until sometime after Mr. Lincoln's procla- 
mation of freedom to the slaves. You will find more 
about this in Appleton's Cyclopedia of American 
Biography, wherein is published a letter from Gen- 
eral Grant's father, in which he says, "My son Ulys- 
ses was very improvident before the war and fre- 
quently applied to me for money. In the fall of 
1860 he begged me to lend him $500, as he was in 
pecuniary distress. I wrote to him that I could not 
do it, and I thought the income from the rent of his 
house and the hire of his negroes ought to support 
him,, but if he was suffering he had better go to Ga- 
lena and work for his brother in the tan-yard. This 
he did, and got along fairly well till the war began 
and he got a good position in the army." 

What a blessed thing is peace and law and order, 
for, as Ben Franklin said, "There never was a good 
war, nor a bad peace." The contest was too unequal 
to last longer. Seven hundred thousand could not 
cope longer with two million, seven hundred thousand. 
There were many blunders on both sides, and much 
good blood was wasted, and there were some pivotal 
points on which turned tremendous results on the 
side of the South. Prominent among them was the 



44 Bill Arp. 

death of Albert Sidney Johnston at Shiloh, the fail- 
uro of IIuo:er to come in time and cut ofp McClellan 's 
retreat at Malvern Hill, the death of Stonewall Jack- 
son, the invasion of Pennsylvania, and the removal 
of General Johnson at Atlanta. But, no doubt, the 
will of God was done. Time is a good doctor. We 
are learning to know each other better, both North 
and South, and to tolerate each other's opinions and 
prejudices. All that is now necessary to make the 
reconciliation complete is for the North to put our 
heroes and Confederate widows on the pension rolls, 
just as they have theirs. Most all of ours are dead; 
only seventy thousand are left of all our army; but 
there are a million pensioners on the rolls up North, 
and as time rolls on they grow more thicker, more 
denser — as Cobe would say. 

'' Time cuts down all, 
Both great and small. 

Except a pensioned soldier; 
They do not die. 
But multiply 

As fast as they grow older." 

Now, if the North will do that, and apologize, we will 
be calm and serene. 



Bill Arp. 45 



CHAPTER IV. 



The Aristocracy and the Common People. 

Before the civil war our Southern civilization was 
divided into two classes — the aristocracy and the 
common people. The aristocrats were generally 
slave-holders, and though they were only one-seventh 
of the voting population, they dominated the other 
six-sevenths politically, socially, and financially. 
And yet there was no friction. The common people 
were loyal to their wealthy and educated leaders. 
They voted for them and fought for them. They 
elected them to our highest offices. These aristocrats 
were our governors, judges, and members of Congress, 
our civil and military office-holders. And they were 
shining lights in the councils of the nation. The 
common people were allowed to be magistrates, con- 
stables and non-commissioned officers in the militia. 
They served on the petit juries and worked the pub- 
lic roads. Their loyalty to the aristocracy was beauti- 
ful. They shouted for Toombs and Stephens, and 
Colquitt and Cobb, with a wild hurrah, and when the 
war came they fought for their principles just like 
our forefathers fought who resisted a tax on tea 
when not one in a thousand drank it. Out of a com- 
pany of eighty-four men who went from Murray 
county, not one was a slave-holder. The aristocracy 



46 Bill Arp. 

was mainly an aristocracy of dominion. This kind 
of aristocracy brings with it culture and pride and 
dignity of bearing. The scriptures always mention 
the number of servants when speaking of the old 
patriarchs' consequence in the land. "I am a man 
having authority," said the Centurion. "I say unto 
this man, go, and he goeth, and to another, come, and 
he Cometh." Dominion is the pride of man — domin- 
ion over something. A negro is proud if he owns a 
"possum" dog. A poor man is proud if he owns a 
horse and a cow and some razor-back hogs. His 
neighbor is proud if he owns a good horse and a top 
buggy and some bottom land and can take the lead 
in his country church or his county politics. The big 
boy loves dominion over his little brother, and the 
father takes it over all — well, not always, for there 
are some wives who have a sweet and silent control 
over their husbands; I speak from experience. Bob 
Toombs once remarked, ' * That the dominion of a good 
wife over her husband was his surest safeguard" 
against the temptations of life. Toombs was a very 
great and noble man, and the most beautiful trait of 
his character was his loyalty and devotion to his 
wife. 

But the Anglo-Saxon race glories in owning men, 
and it makes but little difference whether the men 
are their dependants or their slaves; the glory is all 
the same if they have got them in their power. 
Wealthy corporations, railroad kings, princely plant- 
ers, have dominion over their employees and they con- 



Bill Arp. 47 

r <- ■ (, If » ^ ■'■■■, ■ : 4 5 , 

trol them at tlieir pleasure. It is not a dominion in 
law, but it is almost absolute in fact, and there is 
nothing wrong about it when it is humanely exer- 
cised; indeed, it is a very agreeable relation between 
the poor laborer and the rich employer. An humble, 
poor man loves to lean upon a generous landlord, and 
the landlord is proud of the poor man's homage. I 
asked Bill A. once how he was going to vote, and 
he said he couldn't tell me until he saw Colonel John- 
son. But the dominion of the old aristocracy of the 
South was not over their own race. It was over 
another, and it gradually grew into an oligarchy of 
slave-owners, and the poorer whites were kept under 
the ban. There was a line of social caste between 
them, and it was widening into a gulf, for the poor 
white man could not compete with slave labor any 
more than the farmer or the mechanic can now com- 
pete with convict labor. But, at the same time, this 
kind of slave aristocracy gave dignity and leisure to 
the rich, and Solomon says: ''In leisure there is wis- 
dom;" and so these men became our law-makers and 
jurists, and they were shining lights in the councils 
of the nation. But, my friends, it was an aristocracy 
that was exclusive, and it overshadowed the masses of 
the people like a broad spreading oak overshadows 
and withers the undergrowth beneath it. The results 
of the war wiped out this distinction between the 
aristocrat and the common people. But there are 
still left two classes — those who have seen better days, 
and those who haven't. The first class used to ride 



48 Bill Arp. 

or drive, but most of them now take it afoot or stay 
at home. Seventy-five per cent, of them are descend- 
ants of old Henry Clay Whigs. Forty and fifty 
years ago they were the patrons of high schools and 
colleges, and stocked the professions with an annual 
crop of high-strung graduates who swore by Hemy 
Clay and Fillmore and Stephens and Toombs and 
John Bell and the Code of Honor. They were proud 
of their birth and lineage, their wealth and culture ; 
and when party spirit ran high and fierce they band- 
ed together against the pretensions of the struggling 
democracy. "When I was a young man, a Whig girl 
deemed it an act of condescension to go to a party 
with a Democrat boy. But the wear and tear of the 
war, the loss of their slaves, and a mortgage or two 
to lift, broke most of these old families up, though it 
didn't break down their family pride. They couldn't 
stand it like the Democrats who lived in log cabins 
and wore wool hats and copperas breeches. I speak 
with freedom of the old Georgia democracy, for I 
was one of them. The wealth and refinement of the 
State was, in the main, centered in the party knoAvn 
as the Old Line Whigs. Out of one hundred and 
( sixty students in our State University at Athens, 
I fifty-five years ago, one hundred and thirty of them 
! were the sons of Whigs. I felt politically lonesome 
in their society, and was just going to change my 
base when I fell in love with a little Whig angel who 
was flying around. This hurried me up, and I was 
just about to go over to the Whig party, when sud- 



Bill Arp. 49 

denly that party came over to me. I don't know yet 
whether that political somersault lifted me up or 
pulled the little an^-el down — but I do know she 
wouldn't have me, and at last I mated with a Dem- 
ocratic darling who had either more pity or less dis- 
crimination. She took me, and she's got me yet; she 
surrendered, but I am the prisoner. 

So I did not marry my first love, but Mrs. Arp 
married her's — bless her heart — and she now declares 
I took advantage of her innocent youth and gave her 
no chance to make a choice among lovers. That is 
so, I reckon, for I was in a powerful hurry to secure 
the prize, and pressed my suit with all diligence for 
fear of accidents. Once before I had loved and lost, 
and I thought it would have killed me ; but it didn 't, 
for I never sprung from suicide stock. I had loved 
that little maid of Athens amazingly. I would have 
climbed the Chimborazo mountains and fought a tiger 
for her — a small tiger. And she loved me, I know, 
for the evening before I left for my distant home 
I told her of my love and devotion, my adoration and 
aspiration and admiration and all other ''ations," and 
the palpitating lace on her bosom told me how fast 
her heart was beating, and I gently took her soft hand 
in mine and drew her head upon my manly shoulder 
and kissed her. Delicious feast — delightful memory. 
It lasted me a year, I know, and has not entirely faded 
yet. I never mention it at home — no, never; but I 
think of it sometimes on the sly — yes, on the sly. 
Before I left her for my distant home she promised 

(3) 



50 Bill Arp. 

to consider my love and write to me — but she never 
wrote. She is considering it yet, I reckon. In a year 
or so she married another college boy and was happy, 
and not long after I married Mrs. Arp, and was 
happy, too. So it is all right and no loss on onr 
side. 

I still love to ruminate about those delightful days 
— the memories of love's young dream. And why 
not? Four thousand years ago Jacob kissed liachel, 
and Moses made a record of it in the sacred volume, 
and it has come down to us through the corridors of 
time, and is still the s^veetest part of the story. To 
be mated as well as married is the happiest condition 
of human life. What a beautiful sight it is to see 
a venerable couple with loving children and grand- 
children around them, and going down the vale like 
John Anderson ray Jo John and his loving spouse. 
It seems to me that marriages in those days, half a 
century ago, were more serious than now. I will not 
say there was more love, but I know there were less 
clothes and fewer divorces and grass widows. The 
boys married the girls and the girls married the boys. 
But now it is not uncommon to see our old widowers 
following General Longstreet's example, and taking 
the girls for wives. It is not according to nature and 
is dangerous to both, especially if the old man refuses 
to die in a reasonable time and fails to leave the 
blooming widow a goodly sum. I recall now a beau- 
tiful Gvvnnnett girl, the daughter of a friend of ours* 
The civil war wrecked her father's fortune and he 



Bill Arp. 51 

died soon after, leaving lier almost penniless. When 
she was twenty years old slie wedded a rich old man 
of fifty — an invalid, whose lease on life seemed short 
— and he settled on her an ample fortune to be hers 
at his death. Now she is fifty years old and he is 
eighty, and keeps living on and on and on. They are 
childless, and live on a farm in the country, and she 
looks almost as old and haggard as he does. Hers is 
the wreck of a once happy and hopeful life. 

Now, before the civil war, our young men almost 
invariably mated with our young girls, and our wid- 
owers married widows as a general rule, unless there 
was a Yankee school mistress in sight. They always 
married Southern widowers and were glad to get 
them. Four New England girls went off that way in 
my town, and they made good wives and good moth- 
ers. They were raised to habits of industry and econ- 
omy, and that is what a widower wants in a second 
wife. They take good care of his first crop of chil- 
dren and get them educated and out of the way by 
the time a second crop is coming on. There was no 
economy in ante-bellum days among the aristocracy 
of the South. It wasn't necessary. The little ne- 
groes were always standing around waiting for the 
scraps, either of food or clothing. Wliereas, in New 
England, where I went to school one winter, they 
didn't even keep a dog or a cat at my ijncle's house, 
and the rule was to take no more on your plate than 
you were going to eat, and the dishes and the plates 



52 Bill Arp. 

were left so clean after meals that it was hardly nec- 
essary to wash them — and maybe they didn't. 

Most of these families are poor, but they are proud. 
They are highly respected for their manners and 
their culture. They are looked upon as good stock 
and thoroughbred, but withdrawn from the turf. 
Their daughters carry a high head and a flashing eye, 
stand up square on their postern joints, and chafe 
under the bits. They come just as nigh living as they 
used to as possible. They dress neatly in plain 
clothes, wear starched collars and corsets, and a per- 
fumed handkerchief. They do up their hair in the 
fashion, take Godey's Lady's Book or somebody's Ba- 
zaar. If they are able to hire a domestic, the darkey 
finds out in two minutes that free niggers don't rank 
any higher in that family than slaves used to. The 
negroes v/ho know their antecedents have the highest 
respect for them, and will say Mas' William or Miss 
Julia with the same deference as in former days. 
One would hardly learn from their general deport- 
ment that they cleaned up the house, made up the 
beds, washed the dishes, did their own sewing and 
gave music lessons — in fact, did most everything but 
wash the family clothes. They won't do that. I 
have known them to milk and churn, and sweep the 
back yard, and scour the brass; but I've never seen 
one of them bent over the wash-tub yet. In the good 
old times their rich and patriarchal father lived like 
Abraham, and Jacob, and Job. They felt like they 
were running an unlimited monarchy on a limited 



Bill Arp. 53 

scale. When a white child was born in the family it 
was ten dollars out of pocket; but a little nigger was 
a hundred dollars in and got fifty dollars a year bet- 
ter for twenty years to come. 

The economy of the old plantation was the economy 
of waste. Two servants to one white person was con- 
sidered moderate and reasonable. In a family of 
eight or ten — with numerous visitors and some poor 
kin — there was generally a head cook and her assist- 
ant, a chambermaid, a seamstress, a maid or nurse for 
every daughter, and a little nig for every son, whose 
business it was to trot around after him and hunt up 
mischief. Then there was the stableman and carriage 
driver,, and the gardener and the dairy woman, and 
two little darkies to drive up the cows and keep the 
calves off while the milking was going on. Besides 
these, there were generally half a dozen little chaps 
crawling around or picking up chips, and you could 
hear them bawling and squalling all the day long, as 
their mothers mauled them and spanked them for 
something or for nothing with equal ferocity. 

But the good old plantation times are gone — the 
times when these old family servants felt an affection- 
ate abiding interest in the family; when our good 
mothers nursed their sick and old, helpless ones, and 
their good mothers waited so kindly upon their "mis- 
tis," as they called her, and took care of the little 
children by day and by night. Our old black mammy 
was mighty dear to us children, and we loved her, for 
she was always doing something to please us as she 



54 Bill Arp. 

screened us from many a whippincr. It wonld seem 
an unnntnral wonder, but nevertlieless it is true., that 
these failliful old domestics loved their master's chil- 
dren better than their own, and they showed it in 
numberless ways without any hypocrisy. We frolick- 
ed with their children, and all played together by day 
and hunted together by night, and it beat the Arabian 
Nights to go to the old darkey's cabin of a winter 
night and hear him tell of ghosts and witches and 
jack-o'-lanterns, and wildcats and grave-yards, and 
raw head and bloody bones, and we would listen with 
faith and admiration until we didn't dare to look 
round, and wouldn't have gone back to the big house 
alone for a world of gold. ^ Bonaparte said that all 
men were cowards at night, but I reckon it was these 
old darkies that made us so, and we have hardly re- 
covered from it yet. When I used to go a-courting 
I had to pass a grave-yard in the suburbs of the little 
village, and it was a test of my devotion that I braved 
its terrors on the darkest night and set at defiance 
the wandering spirits that haunted my path. Mrs. 
Arp appreciated it, I know, for she would follow me 
to the door when I left and anxiously listen to my 
retiring foot-steps ; and she declares to this day she 
could hear me running up that hill by the grave-yard 
like a fast trotting horse on a shell road. The slaves 
of that day were loyal to their masters, and in the 
main were happy and contented. Of course there 
were some bad negroes, and there were some bad mas- 
ters. Alas for the negro ! Before the war there was 



Bill Arp. 55 

not an outrage committed by tliem from the Potomac 
to the Rio Grande. There was not a chaingang nor 
a convict camp in all the South. Now, there are five 
thousand in the chain-gangs of Georgia and fifteen 
thousand more in the Southern States. There would 
be fifty thousand if the laws were enforced for minor 
offences, but we overlook them out of pity. 

What a blessed privilege it was for the boys of our 
day to go with the cotton wagons to market, and camp 
out at night, and hear the trusty old wagoners tell 
their wonderful adventures. What a glorious time 
when we got home again, and bronght sugar, and cof- 
fee and molasses, and had shoes all a-round for white 
and black, with the little wooden measures in them 
and the names written on every one. And we had 
Christmas, too, for white folks and black folks; little 
red shawls, and head handkerchiefs, jack knives and 
jews-harps, tobacco and pipes,, were always laid up 
for the family servants. 

The times have wonderfully changed since then — 
some things for better, some for worse. The old aris- 
tocracy is passing away. Some of them escaped the 
general wrec]^ that followed the war and have illus- 
trated by their energy and liberality the doctrine of 
the survival of the fittest — but their name is not leg- 
ion. A nevv^ and hardier stock has come to the front 
— that class which prior to the war was under a cloud, 
and are now seeing their better days. The pendulum 
has swung to the other side. The results of the war 
made an opening for them and developed their ener- 



56 Bill Arp. 

gies. With no hig'h degree of culture, they have nev- 
ertheless proved equal to the strug^gle up the rough 
hill of life and now play an important part in run- 
ning the financial machine. Their practical energy 
has been followed by thrift. They have proved to be 
our best farmers and most prosperous merchants and 
mechanics. They now constitute the solid men of the 
State, and have contributed largely to the building 
up of our schools and churches, our factories and rail- 
roads, and the development of our mineral resources. 
They are shrewd and practical and not afraid of 
work. The two little ragged brothers who sold pea- 
nuts in Rome in 1860 are now her leading and most 
wealthy merchants. Two young men who then 
clerked for a meagre salary are now among the mer- 
chant princes of Atlanta. These are but types of the 
modern, self-made Southerner — a class who form a 
most striking contrast to the stately dignity and aris- 
tocratic repose of the grand old patriarchs and states- 
men whose beautiful homes adorned the hills and 
groves of the South some fort}^ years ago. 

But the children of the old patricians have come 
down some, and the children of the common people 
have come up some, and they have met upon a com- 
mon plane and are now working happily together, 
both in social and business life. Spirit and blood 
have united with energy and muscle, and it makes a 
splendid team — the best all-round team the South has 
ever had. 



Bill Arp. 57 



CHAPTER V. 



The Original ^^Bill Arp." 

Some time in the spring of 1861, when our South- 
ern boys were hunting for a fight, and felt like they 
could whip all creation, Mr. Lincoln issued a procla- 
mation ordering us all to disperse and retire within 
thirty days, and to quit cavorting around in a hos- 
tile and belligerent manner. 

I remember writing an answer to it as though I 
was a good Union man and a law-abiding citizen, and 
was willing to disperse, if I could; but it was almost 
impossible, for the boys were mighty hot, and the way 
we made up our military companies was to send a 
man down the lines with a bucket of water and 
sprinkle the boys as he came to 'em, and if a feller 
sizzed like hot iron in a slack trough, we took him, 
and if he didn't sizz, we didn't take him; but still, 
nevertheless, notwithstanding, and so forth, if we 
could possibly disperse in thirty days we would do 
so, but I thought he had better give us a little more 
time, for I had been out in a old field by myself and 
tried to disperse myself and couldn't do it. 

I thought the letter was right smart, and decently 
sarcastic, and so I read it to Dr. Miller and Judge 
Underwood, and they seemed to think it was right 
smart, too. About that time I looked around and saw 



58 Bill Arp. 

Bill Arp standing at the door with his mouth open 
and a merry glisten in his eye. As he came forward, 
says he to me : ' ' Squire, are you gwine to print that ? ' ' 

' ' I reckon I will, Bill, ' ' said I. ' ' What name are ye 
gwine to put to it?" said he. ''I don't know yet," 
said I ; ' ' I haven 't thought about a name. ' ' Then he 
brightened up and said : ' ' Well, 'Squire, I wish you 
would put mine, for them's my sentiments;" and I 
promised him that I would. 

So I did not rob Bill Arp of his good name, but 
took it on request, arid now, at this late day, when 
the moss has covered his grave, I will record some 
pleasant memories of a man whose notoriety was not 
extensive, but who iilled up a gap that was open, and 
who brightened up the flight of many an hour in the 
good old times, say from forty to fifty years ago. 

He was a small, sinewy man, weighing about one 
hundred and thirty pounds, as active as a cat, and al- 
ways presenting a bright and cheerful face. He had 
an amiable disposition, a generous heart, and was as 
brave a man as nature ever makes. 

He was an humble man and unlettered in books; 
never went to school but a month or two in his life,, 
and could neither read nor write; but still he had 
more than his share of common sense; more than his 
share of good mother wit, and was always welcome 
when he came about. 

Lawyers and doctors and editors, and such gentle- 
men of leisure who used to, in the olden time, sit 
around and chat and have a good time, always said, 



Bill Arp. 59 

"Come in, Bill, and take a seat;" and Bill seemed 
grateful for the compliment, and with a conscious hu- 
mility squatted on about half the chair and waited 
for ciuestions. The bearing of the man was one of 
reverence for his superiors and thankfulness for their 
notice. 

Bill Arp was a contented man — contented with his 
humble lot. He never grumbled or complained at 
anything ; he had desires and ambition, but it did not 
trouble him. He kept a ferry for a wealthy gentle- 
man who lived a few miles above town on the Etowah 
river, and he cultivated a small portion of his land; 
but the ferry was not of much consequence, and when 
Bill could slip off to town and hear the lawyers talk 
he would turn over the boat and the poles to his wife 
or his children and go. I have known him to take 
a back seat in the courthouse for a day at a time, and 
with a face all greedy for entertainment listen to the 
learned speeches of the lawyers and charge of the 
court, and go home happy and be able to tell to his 
admiring family what had transpired. He had the 
greatest reverence for Colonel Johnston, his landlord, 
and always said that he would about as leave belong 
to him as to be free ; ' ' for, ' ' said he, ' ' Mrs. Johnston 
throws away enough old clothes and second-hand vit- 
tels to support my children, and they are always nigh 
enough to pick 'em up." 

Bill Arp lived in Chulio district ; we had eleven dis- 
tricts in the county, and they had all such names as 
Pop-skull, and Blue-gizzard, and Wolf-skin, and 



60 BilIj Arp. 

Shake-rag, and Wild-cat, and Possum-trot, but Bill 
lived and reigned in Cliulio. Every district had its 
best man in those days, and Bill was the best man in 
Chnlio. He could out-run, out- jump, out-swim, out- 
rastle, out-ride, out-shoot anybody, and was so far 
ahead that everybody else had given it up, and Bill 
reigned supreme. He put on no airs about this, and 
his nabors were all his friends. 

But there was another district adjoining, and it had 
its best man, too. One Ben McGinnis ruled the hoys 
of that beat, and after awhile it began to be whis- 
pered around that Ben wasn't satisfied with his lim- 
ited territory, but would like to have a small tackle 
with Bill Arp. Ben was a pretentious man. He 
w^eighed about 165 pounds, and was considered a reg- 
ular bruiser. When Ben hit a man he meant busi- 
ness, and his adversary was hurt — badly hurt, and 
Ben was glad of it. But when Bill Arp hit a man 
he was sorry for him, and if he knocked him down, 
he would rather help him up and brush the dirt off 
his clothes than swell around in triumph. Fighting 
was not very common with either. The quicker a 
man whips a fight the less of it he had to do, and both 
Ben and Bill had settled their standing most effectu- 
ally. Bill was satisfied with his honors, but Ben was 
not, for there was many a Ransy Sniffle who lived 
along the line between the districts, and carried news 
from the one to the other, and made up the coloring, 
and soon it was narrated around that Ben and Bill 
had to meet and settle it. 



Bill Arp. 61 

The court-grounds of that day consisted of a little 
log shanty and a shelf. The shanty had a dirt floor 
and a puncheon seat, and a slab for the 'Squire's 
docket, and the shelf was outside for the whiskey. 

The whiskey was kept in a gallon jug, and that held 
just about enough for the day's business. Most every 
body took a dram in those days, but very few took 
too much, unless, indeed, a dram was too much. Pis- 
tols were unknown, and bowie-knives and brass- 
knuckles and sling-shots and all other devices that 
gave one man an artful advantage over another. 

When Colonel Johnston, who was Bill Arp's land- 
lord, and Major Ayer and myself got to Chulio, Bill 
Arp was there, and was pleasantly howdying with his 
nabors, when suddenly we discovered Ben McGinnis 
arriving upon the ground. He hitched his horse to a 
swinging limb and dismounted and began trampoos- 
ing around, and every little crowd he got to, he would 
lean forward in an insolent manner and say, "Any- 
body here got anything agin Ben McGinnis? Ef they 
have, I goll, I'll give 'em five dollars to hit that; I 
golly, I dare anybody to hit that," and he would 
point to his forehead wdth an air of insolent defiance. 

Bill Arp was standing by us and I thought he look- 
ed a litle more serious than I ever had seen him. 
Frank Ayer says to him, "Bill, I see that Ben is com- 
ing around here to pick a fight with you, and I want 
to say that you have got no cause of quarrel with him, 
and if he comes, do you just let him come and go, 
that' all." Colonel Johnston says, "Bill, he is too 



62 Bill Arp. 

big for you, and your own beat knows you, and you 
haven't done anything against Ben, and so I advise 
you to let him pass ; do you hear me ? " 

By this time Bill's nervous system was all in a 
quiver. His face had an air of rigid determination, 
and he replied humbly, but firmly, "Colonel John- 
ston, I love you, and I respect you, too; but if Ben 
McGinnis comes up here outen his beat, and into my 
beat, and me not having done nothing agin him, and 
he dares me to hit him, I'm going to hit him, if it is 
the last lick I ever strike. I'm no phist puppy dog, 
sir, that he should come out of his deestrict to bully 
me." 

I've seen Bill Arp in battle, and he was a hero, 
I've seen him when shot and shell rained around him, 
and he was cool and calm, and the same old smile was 
upon his features, but I never saw him as intensely ex- 
cited as he v/as that moment when Ben McGinnis ap- 
proached us, and, addressing himself to Bill Arp, said, 
' ' I golly, I dare anybody to hit that. ' ' 

As Ben straightened up, Bill let fly with his hard, 
bony fist right in his left eye, and followed it up with 
another so quick that the two blows seemed as one. 1 
don't know how it was, and never will know; but in 
less than a second. Bill had him down and was on 
him, and his fists and his elbows and his knees seemed 
all at work. He afterwards said that his knees work- 
ed on Ben's bread basket, which he knew was liis 
weakest part. Ben hollered "enough" in due time, 
which was considered- honorable to do when a feller 



Bill Arp. 63 

had enough, and Bill helped him up and brushed tho 
dirt off his clothes, and said, "Now, Ben, is it all 
over betwixt us, is you and me all rights" And Ben 
said, "It's all right 'twixt you and me. Bill; and you 
are much of a gentleman." Bill invited all hands up 
to the shelf, and they took a drink, and he and Ben 
were friends. 

This is enough of Bill Arp — the original, the simon 
pure. He was a good soldier in war. He was the 
wit and the wag of the camp-fires, and made a home- 
sick youth laugh away his melancholy. He was a 
good citizen in peace. When told that his son was 
killed he looked no surprise, but simply said: "Major, 
did he die all right ? ' ' When assured that he did, Bill 
wiped away a falling tear and said, "I only wanted 
to tell his mother." 

You may talk about heroes and heroines; I have 
seen all sorts, and so has most everybody who was 
in the war, but I never saw a more devoted heroine 
than Bill Arp 's wife. She was a very humble woman, 
very, and she loved her husband with a love that v/as 
passing strange. I have seen that woman in town, 
three miles from her home, hunting around by night 
for her husband, going from one saloon to another, 
and in her kind, loving voice inquiring "is William 
here?" Blessings on that poor woman; I have almost 
cried for her many a time. Poor William, how she 
loved him. Hovv^ tenderly would she take him, when 
she found him, and lead him home, and bathe his head 



()4 Va\Aj Alii'. 

and put him to hcd. She always looked pleased ;ind 
thankful when asked about him, and would say, "h(^ 
is a j^ood little man, but you know he has his failin^^s. " 
She loved Bill and ho loved her; he was weak and she 
was strong. There are some such women now, I 
reckon. I know there are some such men. 



1*1 LI. Aijp. ()5 



CHAPTER VI. 



Big John. 



"B\<^ John" was one of the earliest settlers of 
Rome, and one of lu^r most notable men. For several 
years he was known by his proper name of John Un- 
derwood; but when another Jolm Underwood ihovchI 
there, the old settler had to be idcmtificMl by his siijx'- 
rior siz(^, and ii'i'adually lost his surname, nnd was 
known far and near as ''Bi^- John." The nc^w eomer 
was a man of lar<^e frao^e, weiji^hinj^' about 225 pounds, 
but Bi^' John pulled down the scales at a hundred 
pounds more. He had shorter arms nnd sliorter l(\<^s, 
])ut his circumference was correspondinj»ly immense. 
lie was notable for his humor and his j^ood humor. 
The best town jokes came from his jolly, fertile fancy, 
and his comments on men and things were always 
original, and as terse and vijj^orous as ever earner from 
the brain of Dr. Johnson. He was a diamond in the 
rou^'h. lie had lived a, i)ioneer amoUjU- the Indians 
of Cherokee, and it was said fell in I()V(i with an 
Indian maid, the daughter of old Tusteini^fjjee, 
a limited chief, and never married because he 
could not marry her. But if his disappoint- 
ment preyed upon his heart, it did not l)rey 
long upon the region that (inclosed it, for he eontirnied 
to expand his i>roi)()rtions. lie was a good talker and 



66 Bill Arp. 

an earnest laugher — whether he laughed and grew 
fat, or grew fat and laughed, the doctors could not 
tell which was cause and which was effect, and it is 
still in doubt, but I have heard wise men affirm that 
laughing was the fat man's safety-valve,, that if he 
did not laugh and shake and. vibrate frequently, he 
would grow fatter and fatter, until his epidermic 
cuticle could not contain his oleaginous corporosity. 

Big John had no patience with the war, and when 
he looked upon the boys strutting around in uniform, 
and fixing up their canteens and haversacks, he 
seemed as much astonished as disgusted. He sat in 
his big chair on the sidewalk, and would remark, "I 
don't see any fun in the like of that. Somebody is 
going to be hurt, and lighting don't prove anything. 
Some of our best people in this town are kin to them 
fellers up North, and I don't see any sense in tearing 
up families by a fight." He rarely looked serious or 
solemn, but the impending strife seemed to settle him. 
"Boys," said he, "I hope to God this thing will be 
fixed up without a fight, for fighting is a mighty bad 
business, and I never knowed it to do any good. ' ' 

Big John had had a little war experience — that is, 
he had volunteered in a company to assist in the forci- 
ble removal of the Cherokees to the far west in 1835. 
It was said that he was no belligerent then, but wanted 
to see the maiden that he loved a safe transit, and so 
he escorted the old chief and his clan as far as Tus- 
cumbia, and then broke down and returned to Ross 
Landing on the Tennessee river. He was too heavy 



Bill Arp. 67 

to march, and when he arrived at the Landing, a pris- 
oner was pnt in his charge for safe keeping. Ross 
Landing is Chattanooga now, and John Boss lived 
there, and was one of the chiefs of the Cherokees. The 
prisoner was his guest, and his name was John How- 
ard Payne. He was suspected of trying to instigate 
the Cherokees to revolt and fight, and not leave their 
beautiful forest homes ^n the Tennessee and Coosa 
and postenaula and the Etowah, or New Town, as it 
was called, an Indian settlement on the Coosawattee, 
a few miles east of Calhoun, as now known. There he 
kept the author of "Home, Sweet Home" under 
guard, or on his parol of honor, for three weeks, and 
night after night slept with him in his tent, and lis- 
tened to his music upon the violin, and heard him 
sing his own songs until orders came for his discharge, 
and Payne was sent under escort to Washington. 

Many a time have I heard Big John recite his sad 
adventures. ''It was a most distressive business," 
said he. "Them Injuns was heart-broken; I always 
knowed an Injun loved his hunting-ground and his 
rivers, but I never knowed how much they loved 'em 
before. You know ^ they killed Ridge for consentin' 
to the treaty. They killed him on the march and 
they wouldn't bury him. The soldiers had to 
stop and dig a grave and put him away. John Ross 
and John Ridge were the sons of two Scotchmen, who 
came over here when they were young men and mixed 
up with these tribes and got their good will. These 
two boys were splendid looking men, tall and hand- 



68 Bill Arp. 

some, with long auburn hair, and they were active 
and strong, and conld shoot a bow equal to the best 
bowman of the tribe, and they beat 'em all to pieces 
on the cross-bow. They married the daughters of the 
old chiefs, and when the old chiefs died they just fell 
into line and succeeded to the old chiefs' places, and 
the tribes liked 'em mighty well, for they were good 
men and made good chiefs. Well, you see Ross dident 
like the treaty. He said it wasent fair, and that the 
price of the territory was too low, and the fact is he 
dident want to go at all. There are the ruins of his 
old home now over there in DeSoto, close to Rome, 
and I tell you he was a king. His word was the law 
of the Injun nations, and he had their love and their 
respect. His half-breed children were the purtiest 
things I ever saw in my life. Well, Ridge lived up 
the Oostanaula river about a mile, and he was a good 
man, too. Ross and Ridge always consulted about 
everything for the good of the tribes, but Ridge was 
a more milder man than Ross, and was more easily 
persuaded to sign the treaty that gave the lands to 
the State and take other lands away across the ]\Iis- 
sissippi. 

"Well, it took us a month to get 'em all together 
and begin the march to the Mississippi, and they 
wouldn't march then. The women would go out of 
line and set down in the woods and go to grieving, 
and you may believe it or not, but I '11 tell you what is 
a fact, we started with 14,000, and 4,000 of 'em died 
before we got to Tuscumbia. They died on the side 



Bill Arp. 69 

of the road ; tliey died of broken hearts ; they died 
of starvation, for they wouldn't eat a thing; they jnst 
died all along the way. We didn't make more than 
five miles a day on the march, and my company didn't 
do much but dig graves and bury Injuns all the way 
to Tuscumbia. They died of grief and broken hearts, 
and no mistake. An Indian's heart is tender and his 
love is strong; it's his nature. I'd rather risk an 
Injun for a true friend than a white man. He is the 
best friend in the world, and the worst enemy. He 
has got more gratitude and more revenge in him than 
anybody. ' ' 

Big John's special comfort was a circus. He never 
missed one, and it was a good part of the show to see 
him laugh and shake and spread his magnificent face. 

He took no pleasure in the quarrels of mankind, and 
never backed a man in a fight; but when two dogs 
locked teeth, or two bulls locked horns, or two game 
chickens locked spurs, he always liked to be about. 
"It is their nature to fight," said he, ''and let 'em 
fight." He took delight in watching dogs and com- 
menting on their sense and dispositions. He compared 
them to the men about town, and drew some humor- 
ous analogies. "There is Jimmy Jones," said he, 
"who ripped and splurged around because Georgia 
wouldn't secede in a minute and a half, and he swore 
he was going over to South Carolina to fight; and 
when Georgia did secede shore enough, he didn't join 
the army at all, and always had some cussed excuse, 
and when conscription came along, he got on a detail 



70 Bill Arp. 

to make potash, con-ding him, and when that played 
out he got him a couple of track dogs and got detailed 
to catch runaway prisoners. Just so I've seen dogs 
run up and down the palings like they was dying to 
get to one another, and so one day I picked up my dog 
by the nape of the neck and droi)ped him over on the 
outside. I never knowed he could jump that fence 
before, but he bounced back like an Indian rubber 
ball, and the other dog streaked it down the sidewalk 
like the dickens was after him. Dogs are like folks, 
and folks are like dogs, and a heap of 'em want the 
palings between. Jack Begin used to strut round and 
whip the boys in his beat, and kick 'em around, be- 
cause he knew he could do it, for he had the most 
muscle; but he could'nt look a brave man in the eye, 
muscle or no muscle, and I've seen him shut up quick 
when he met one. A man has got to be right to be 
brave, and I had rather see a bully get a licking than 
to eat sugar. ' ' 



Bill Arp. 71 



CHAPTER VII. 



The Roman Runagee. 

Atlanta, Ga., May 22, 1864. 

Mr. Editor: ''Remote, unfriended, melancholy, 
slow," as somebody said, I am seeking a log in some 
vast wilderness, a lonely roost in some Okeefenokee 
swamp, where the foul invaders cannot travel nor 
their pontoon bridges float. If Mr. Shakespeare were 
correct when he wrote that "sweet are the juices of 
adversity," then it is reasonable to suppose that me 
and my folks, and many others, must have some sweet- 
ening to spare. When a man is aroused in the 
dead of night, and smells the approach of 
the foul invader; when he feels constrained 
to change his base and become a runagee from 
his home, leaving behind him all those ususary 
things, which hold body and soul together; when he 
looks, perhaps the last time upon his lovely home 
where he has been for many delightful years raising 
children and chickens,, straw^berries and peas, lye 
soap and onions, and all such luxuries of this sublu- 
nary life; when he imagines every unusual sound to 
be the crack of his earthly doom; when from such 
influences he begins a dignified retreat, but soon is 
constrained to leave the dignity behind, and get away, 



72 Bill Arp. 

without regard to the order of his going — if there is 
any sweet juice in the like of that, I haven't been able 
to see it. No, Mr. Editor, such scenes never happened 
in Bill Shakespeare's day, or he wouldn't have written 
that line. 

I don't know that the lovely inhabitants of your 
beautiful city need any forewarnings, to make 'em 
avoid the breakers upon which our vessel was wrecked, 
but for fear they should some day shake their gory 
locks at me, I will make public a brief allusion to 
some of the painful circumstances which lately oc- 
curred in the eternal city. 

Not many days ago the everlasting Yankees (may 
they live always when the devil gets 'em) made a 
valiant assault upon the city of the hills — the eternal 
city, where for a hundred years the Indian rivers have 
been blending their waters peacefully together — 
where the Cherokee children built their flutter mills, 
and toyed with frogs and tadpoles whilst these majes- 
tic streams were but little spring branches babbling 
along their sandy beds. For three days and nights 
our valiant troops had beat back the foul invader, and 
saved our pullets from their devouring jaws. For 
three days and nights we bade farewell to every fear, 
luxuriating upon the triumph of our arms, and the 
sweet juices of our strawberries and cream. For three 
days and nights fresh troops from the South poured 
into our streets with shouts that made the welkin 
ring, and the turkey bumps rise all over the flesh of 
our people. We felt that Rome was safe — secure 



Bill Arp. 73 

against the assault of the world, the flesh and the 
devil, which last individual is supposed to bo that 
horde of foul invaders who are seeking to flank us 
out of both bread and existence. 

But alas for human hopes ! Man that is born of 
woman (and there is no other sort that I know of) has 
but a few days that is not full of trouble. Although 
the troops did shout ; although their brass band music 
swelled upon the gale ; although the turkey bumps rose 
as the welkin rung ; although the commanding genei'al 
assured us that Rome was to be held at every hazard, 
and that on to-morrow the big battle was to be fought, 
and the foul invaders hurled all howling and bleeding 
to the shores of the Ohio, yet it transpired somehow 
that on Tuesday night the military evacuation of our 
city was peremptorily ordered. No note of warning — 
no whisper of alarm — no hint of the morrow came 
from the muzzled lips of him who had lifted our 
hopes so high. Calmly and coolly we smoked our 
killikinick, and surveyed the embarkation of troops, 
construing it to be some grand manoeuvre of military 
strategy. About ten o'clock we retired to rest, to 
dream of tomorrow's victory. Sleep soon overpowered 
us like the fog that covered the earth, but nary bright 
dream had come, nary vision of freedom and glory. 
On the contrary, our rest was uneasy — strawberries 
and cream seemed to be holding secession meetings 
within our corporate limits, when suddenly, in the 
twinkling of an eye, a friend aroused us from our 
slumber and put a new phase upon the ''situation." 



74 Bill Arp. 

General Johnston was retreating, and the foul inva- 
ders were to pollute our sacred soil the next morning. 
Then came the tug of war. With hot and feverish 
haste we started out in search of transportation, but 
nary transport could be had. Time-honored friend- 
ship, past favors shown, everlasting gratitude, numer- 
ous small and lovely children, Confederate currency, 
new issues, bank bills, black bottles, and all influences 
were urged and used to secure a corner in a car; but 
nary corner — too late — too late — the pressure for time 
was fearful and tremendous — the steady clock moved 
on — no Joshua about to lengthen out the night, no 
rolling stock, no steer, no mule. With reluctant and 
hasty steps, we prepared to make good our exit by 
that overland line which railroads do not control, nor 
A. Q. Ms impress. 

With our families and a little clothing, we crossed 
the Etowah bridge about the break of day on Wednes- 
day, the 17th of May, 1864, exactly a year and two 
weeks from the time when General Forrest marched 
in triumph through our streets. By and by the bright 
rays of the morning sun dispersed the heavy fog, 
which like a pall of death had overspread all nature. 
Then were exhibited to our afflicted gaze a highway 
crowded with wagons and teams, cattle and hogs, 
niggers and dogs, women and children, all moving in 
disheveled haste to parts unknown. Mules were bray- 
ing, cattle were lowing, hogs were squealing, sheep 
were bleating, children were crying, wagoners were 
cursing, whips were popping, and horses stalling, but 



Bill Arp. 75 

still the grand caravan moved on. Everybody was 
continually looking behind, and driving before — 
everybody wanted to know everything, and nobody 
knew anjdhing. Ten thousand wild rumors filled the 
circumambient air. The everlasting cavalry was 
there, and as they dashed to and fro gave false alarms 
of the enemy being in hot pursuit. 

About this most critical juhcture of affairs, some 
philanthropic friends passed by with the welcome 
news that the bridge was burnt, and the danger all 
over. Then ceased the panic ; then came the peaceful 
calm of heroes after the strife of war is over — then 
exclaimed Frank Ralls, my demoralized friend, 
"Thank the good Lord for that. Bill, let's return 
thanks and stop and rest — boys, let mt get out and 
lie down. I'm as humble as a dead nigger — I tell you 
the truth — I sung the long metre doxology as I crossed 
the Etowah bridge, and I expected to be a dead man in 
fifteen minutes. Be thankful, fellows, let's all be 
thankful — the bridge is burnt, and the river is three 
miles deep. Good sakes, do you reckon those Yankees 
can swim? Get up,, boys — let's drive ahead and keep 
moving — I tell you there's no accounting for any- 
thing with blue clothes on these days — ding'd if I 
ain't afraid of a blue-tailed fly." 

With a most distressing flow of language, he con- 
tinued his rhapsody of random remarks. 

Then there was that trump of good felloAvs, Big 
John — as clever as he is fat, and as fat as old Palstaff 
— with inde/a^igable diligence he had secured, as a 



76 Bill Arp. 

last resort, a one-horse steer spring wagon, with a 
low, flat body sitting on two rickety springs. Being 
mounted thereon, he was urging a more speedy loco- 
motion by laying on to the carcass of the poor old 
steer with a thrash-pole ten feet long. Having stopped 
at a house, he procured a two-inch auger, and boring 
a hole through the dashboard, pulled the steer's tail 
through and tied up the end in a knot. ''My running 
gear is weak," said he, "but I don't intend to be 
stuck in the mud. If the body holds good, and the 
steer don't pull out his tail, why. Bill, I am safe." 
"My friend," said I, "will you please to inform me 
what port you are bound for, and when you expect 
to reach it?" "No port at all, Bill," said he, "I am 
going dead s^aight to the big Stone Mountain. I am 
going to get on the top and roll rocks down upon all 
mankind. I now forewarn every living thing not to 
come there until this everlasting foolishness is over." 
He was then but three miles from town, and had been 
traveling the livelong night. Ah, my big friend, 
thought I, when wilt thou arrive at thy journey's end? 
In the language of Patrick Henry, will it be the next 
week or the next year ? Oh, that I could write a poem, 
I would embalm thy honest face in epic verse. But I 
was in a right smart hurry myself, and only had time 
to drop his memory a passing rhyme. 

Farewell, Big John, farewell! 

'Twas painful to my heart 
To see thy chances of escape, 

Was that old steer and cart. 



Bill Arp. 77 

Methinks I see thee now, 

With axletrees all broke, 
And wheels with naiy hub at all. 

And hubs with nary spoke. 

But though the mud is deep, 

Thy wits will never fail; 
That faithful steer will pull thee out, 

If he don't pull out his tail. 

Mr. Editor, under such variegated scenes we reported 
progress, and in course of time arrived under the 
shadow of thy city's wing's, abounding in gratitude 
and joy. 

With sweet and patient sadness, the tender hearts 
of our wives and daughters beat mournfully as we 
moved along. Often, alas, how often was the tear seen 
swimming in the eye, and the lips quivering with emo- 
tion, as memory lingered around deserted homes, and 
thoughts dwelt upon past enjoyments and future des- 
olation. We plucked the wildflowers as we passed, 
sang songs of merriment, exchanged our wit with 
children — smothering, by every means, the sorrow 
of our fate. These things, together with the comic 
events that occurred by the way, were the safety- 
valves that saved the poor heart from bursting. But 
for these our heads would have been fountains and 
our hearts a river of tears. Oh, if some kind friend 
would set our retreat to music,, it would be greatly ap- 
preciated indeed. It should be a plaintive tune, inter- 
spersed with occasional comic notes, and frequent 
fuges scattered promiscuously along. 



78 • Bill Arp. 

Our retreat was conducted in excellent order, after 
the bridge was burnt. If there was any straggling at 
all, they straggled ahead. It would have delighted 
General Johnston to have seen the alacrity of our 
movements. 

But I must close this melancholy narrative, and 
hasten to subscribe myself. Your runagee. 

Bill Arp. 

P. S. — Tip is still faithful unto the end. He says 
the old turkey we left behind has been setting for 
fourteen weeks, and the fowl invaders are welcome 
to her. Furthermore, that he threw a dead cat into 
the well, and they are welcome to that. B. A. 



Bill Arp. 79 



CIIAPTEK VIII. 



His Late Trials and Adventures. 

Some frog-eating Frenchman has written a book, 
and called it ''Lee's Miserables," or some other such 
name, which I suppose contains the misfortunes of 
poor refugees in the wake of the Virginny army. 
({eneral Hood has also got a few miserables in the 
Rubur])s of his fighting-ground, and if any man given 
to romance would like a fit su])ject for a weeping nar- 
rative, we are now ready to furnish the mournful 
material. 

As the Yankees remarked at Bull Run, "those are 
the times that try men's soles," and I suppose my 
interesting family is now prepared to show stone 
bruises and blisters with anybody. It is a long story, 
Mr. Editor, and cannot possibly be embraced in a 
single column of your wandering newspaper; but I 
will condense it as briefly as possible, smoothing over 
the most afPecting parts, so as not to occasion too great 
a diffusion of sympathetic tears. 

After our hasty flight from the eternal city, we be- 
came converted over to the doctrine of squatter sover- 
eignty, and pitched our tents in the piney woods. Afar 
off in those fields of illimitable space, we roamed 
through the abstruse regions of the philosophic world. 
There no unfriendly soldier was perusing around and 



80 Bill Arp. 

asking for papers. There the melancholy mind was 
soothed. There the lonely runagee could contemplate 
the sandy roads, the wire-grass woods, and the mil- 
lions of majestic pines that stood like ten-pins in an 
alley, awaiting some huge cannon-ball to come along 
and knock 'em down. The mountain scenery in this 
romantic country was grand, gloomy and peculiar, 
consisting in numberless gopher-hills, spewed up in 
promiscuous beauty as far as the eye could reach. All 
around us the swamp frogs were warbling their musi- 
cal notes. All above us the pines ^vere sighing and 
singing their mournful tunes. Dame Nature 
has spread herself there in showing her lavish hand, 
and wasting timber along those endless glades. Truly, 
we were treading on classic ground, for we pitched 
our tents in a blackberry patch, and morning, noon 
and night, luxuriated in peace upon the delicious fruit 
which everywhere adorned the sandy earth. 

But those piney woods to which we fled did not 
by any means agree with our ideas of future comfort. 
After it had rained some forty days and forty nights 
without a recess, the corn crop had pretty well died 
out, and General Starvation seemed about to assume 
command of the region round about. 

We felt constrained to depart from those coasts, 
and seek an Egypt somewhere in a rounder and more 
rolling country. So we took the train for Atlanta and 
designed to take roundance from there and find a 
retreat away up the Chattahoochee river where Mrs. 
Arp's father lived. 



Bill Arp. 81 

All along the line, at every station, pretty women 
get on and get off. When they leave us, an affection- 
ate man like myself miconscioiisly whispers, ''Depart 
in peace, ye treasures of delight. ' ' Casting a longing, 
lingering look behind, I exclaimed in the beautiful 
language of Mr. Shakespeare, 'I have thee not, but 
yet I see thee still.' Farewell, sweet darlings, until I 
come again. But woman is sometimes very variegated 
and peculiar in the way she does. I am just reminded 
how, on a late occasion, I found but one vacant seat 
in the car after I located my numerous and interest- 
ing family. A luxurious lady, with some aggravat- 
ing curls, had occupied nearly all of a seat, spreading 
herself like a setting-hen, all over the velvet cushion. 
"Madam, can I share this seat with you?" said I. 
Certainly, sir, ' ' and she clossed in her skirts some sev- 
eral inches. In a short space of time she became af- 
fected with drowsiness. Her neck became as limber as 
a greasy rag. Leaning on my shoulder, she seemed 
wonderfully affectionate, as her head kept bobbing 
around, and I felt very peculiar at such times as she 
would subside into my palpitating bosom. About this 
critical juncture, I ventured to turn my astonished 
gaze towards Mrs. Arp, and seeing that she was wait- 
ing for some remark, I observed, "Hadn't I better 
remove my seat? Do you think I can endure the like 
of this?" 

"I do not, William," said she. "You had better 
stand up awhile, and when you get tired some of the 
children will relieve you." The glance of her eye and 

(4) 



82 Bill Arp. 

the manner in which she spoke brought me up stand- 
ing, and gave me a correct view of the situation. Im- 
mediately I assumed a perpendicular attitude, and 
the curly head was left without a prop. I assure you, 
Mr. Editor, a man's wife is the best judge of such 
peculiar things ; and as for me, I am always governed 
by it. 

We arrived in Atlanta about the time the first big 
shells commenced scattering their unfeeling contents 
among the suburbs of that devoted city. Then came 
the big panics; then shrieked the man-eater; then 
howled the wild hyena among the hills of Babylon. 

All sorts of people seemed moving in all sorts of 
ways, with an accelerated motion. They gained ground 
on their shadows as they leaned forward on the run, 
and their legs grew longer at every step. With me it 
was the second ringing of the first bell. I had sorter 
got used to the thing, and set myself down to take ob- 
servations. "How many miles to Milybright?" said 
I. But no response came, for their legs were as long 
as light, and every bursting shell was an old witch 
on the road. Cars was the all in all. Depots were 
the center of space, converging lines from every point 
of the compass made tracks to the offices of railroad 
superintendents. These functionaries very prudently 
vamoosed the ranch to avoid their too numerous 
friends, leaving positive orders to their subordinates. 
The passenger depot was thronged with anxious seek- 
ers of transportation. "Won't you let these boxes go 
as baggage?" "No, madam, it is impossible." Just 



Bill Arp. 83 

then somebody's family trunk as big as a nitre bureau 
was shoved in, and the poor woman got desperate. 
"All I've got ain't as heavy as that," said she; "I 
am a poor widow, and my husband was killed in the 
army. I've got five children, and three of them cut- 
ting teeth, and my things have got to go." We took 
up her boxes and shoved them in. Another good 
woman asked very anxiously for the Macon train. 
"There it is, madam," said I. She shook her head 
mournfully and remarked, "You are mistaken, sir, 
don't you see the engine is headed right up the State 
road, towards the Yankees? I shan't take any train 
with the engine at that end of it. No, sir, that ain't 
the Macon train." Everybody was hurrying to and 
fro at a lively tune. "What's today, nigger?" said 
a female darkey with a hoopskirt on her arm. ' ' Taint 
no day, honey, dat eber I seed. Yesterday was Sun- 
day, and I reckon today is Runday from de way de 
white folks are movin ' about. Yah, yah ; ain 't af eered 
of Yankees myself, but dem sizzin bum-shells kills a 
nigger quicker dan you can lick your tongue out. 
Gwine to get away from here — I is." 

I went into a doctor's shop, and found my friend 
packing up his vials and poisons and copiva and such 
like. Various excited individuals came in, looked at 
a big map on the wall, and pointed out the roads to 
McDonough and Eatonton and Jasper, and soon their 
proposed lines of travel were easily and greasily vis- 
ible from the impression of their perspiring fingers. 
An old skeleton, with but one leg, was swinging from 



84 Bill Arp. 

the ceiling looking like a mournful emblem of the 
fate of the troubled city. "You are going to leave 
him to stand guard, doctor?" said I. "I suppose I 
will," said he; "got no transportation for him." 
"Take the screw out of his skull," said I, "and give 
him a crutch, maybe he will travel ; all flesh is moving 
and I think the bones will catch the contagion soon." 
A few doors further, and a venerable auctioneer 
was surveying the rushing, running crowd, and every 
now and then he would raise his arm with a seesaw 
motion and exclaim, "Going — going — gone! Who's 
the bidder?" "Old Daddy Time," said I, "he'll get 
them all before long." The door of an old friend's 
residence swung open to my gaze, and I walked in. 
Various gentlemen of my acquaintance were discuss- 
ing their evidences of propriety over a jug of depart- 
ing spirits. "I believe I'll unpack," said one. "Dinged 
if I'm afraid of a blue-tailed fly; I'm going to sit 
down and be easy. " " In a horn, ' ' said I. Just then 
a sizzing, singing, crazy shell sung a short-metre 
hymn right over the house. "Jake, has the dray 
come ? " he said, bouncing to his feet : ' ' confound that 
dray — blame my skin if I'll ever get a dray to move 
these things — boys, lets all stay; durned if it don't 
look cov»^ardly to run! Boys, here to — who shall we 
drink to ? " " Here 's to Cassabianca, ' ' said I. ' ' Good, 
good," they all shouted. "Here's to Cabysianka. 
Let me speak it for you, boys," said our host; "I've 
spoken it a thousand times. ' ' He mounted the seat of 
a broken sofa, and spreading himself, declaimed : 



Bill Arp. 85 

" The boy stood on the burning deck, 
When all had fled but him." 

"That's me," said odp.. "It's me exactly," said 
another. "I'm Babysianka myself — dog my cat if I 
don't be the last one to leave this ship." Another 
shell sizzed, and bursted a few yards off. "Boys, let's 
take another drink and leave the town — dod rot the 
Yankees." "Here's to— the— the 'Last of the Mohi- 
cans,' " said I. "Exactly — that's so. I'm him my- 
self. I'm the mast of the Lohikens; durned if I'll 

leave these diggins as long as — as long as " "As 

the State road," said I, "which is now about four 
inches and a half." "That's it; that's so," said my 
friends. "Here's to the State road and Dr. Brown 
and Joe Phillips, as long as four inches and a half." 

By and by the shells fell as thick as Governor 
Brown's proclamations, causing a more speedy loco- 
motion in the excited throng who hurried by the door, 
but my friends inside had passed the Rubicon, and 
one by one retired to dream of Bozarris and his 
Suliote band. Vacant rooms and long corridors 
echoed with their snores, and they appeared like sleep- 
ing heroes in the halls of the Montezumas. 

Contagious diseases are said to be catching, and 
the Atlanta big panics brought the Atlanta folk to 
an active perpendicular quicker than all the physics 
ever seen in a city drug store. It certainly has a ten- 
dency to arouse the dormant energies of feeble inva- 
lids. Weak backs and lame legs, old chronics and 
rheumatics, in fact, all the internal diseases which 



86 Bill Arp. 

lionest fear of powder and ball had developed since 
the war began, were now forgotten in the general 
flight; and the examination boards could have seen 
many a discharge invalidated, and a living, moving 
lie given to their certificates. 

All day and all night the iron horses were snorting 
to the echoing breeze. Train after train of goods and 
chattels moved down the road, leaving hundreds of 
anxious faces waiting their return. There was no 
method in this madness. All kinds of plunder was 
tumbled in promiscuously. A huge parlor mirror, 
some six feet by eight, all bound in elegant gold, with 
a brass buzzard spreading his wings on top, was set 
up at the end of the car and reflected a beautiful as- 
sortment of parlor funiture to match, such as pots, 
kettles, baskets, bags, barrels, kegs, bacon and bed- 
steads piled up together. Government officials had 
the preference and government officials all have 
friends. Any clever man with a charming wife or a 
pretty sister could secure a corner in more cars than 
one, and I will privately mention to you, Mr. Editor, 
that I have found a heap of civility on this account 
myself. Indeed, I have always thought that no man 
is excusable who has not either one or the other. 



Bill Arp. 87 



CHAPTER IX. 



BiiiL Arp Addresses Artemus Ward. 

Rome, Ga., September 1, 1865. 
Mr. Artemus Ward, SJiowman — 

Sir : The reason I write to you in perticler, is be- 
cause you are about the only man I know in all 
''God's country," so-called. For some several weeks 
I have been wantin' to say sum thin'. For some sev- 
eral years we rebs, so-called, but now late of said 
country deceased, have been tryin' mighty hard to do 
somethin'. We didn't quite do it, and now it's very 
painful, I assure you, to dry up all of a sudden, and 
make out like we wasn't there. 

My friend, I want to say somethin'. I suppose 
there is no law agin thinkin,' but thinkin' don't help 
me. It don't let down my themometer. I must ex- 
plode myself generally so as to feel better. You see 
I'm tryin' to harmonize. I'm tryin' to soften down 
my feelin's. I'm endeavoring to subjugate myself to 
the level of surroundin' circumstances, so-called. But 
I can't do it until I am allowed to say somethin'. I 
want to quarrel with somebody and then make 
friends. I ain't no giant-killer. I ain't no Norwegian 
bar. I ain't no boa-constrickter, but I'll be horn- 
swaggled if the talkin' and writin' and slanderin' has 
got to be all done on one side any longer. Sum of 



88 Bill Arp. 

your folks have got to dry up or turu our folks loose. 
It's a blamed outrage, so-called. Ain't you editors 
got nothin' else to do but peck at us, and squib at us, 
and crow over us? Is every man what can write a 
paragraph to consider us bars in a cage, and be al- 
ways a-jobbin' at us to hear us growl? Now, you see, 
my friend, that's what's disharmonious, and do you 
jest tell 'em, one and all, e pluribus unum, so-called, 
that if they don't stop it at once or turn us loose to 
say what we please, why, we rebs, so-called, have 
unanimously and jointly and severally resolved to — 
to — to — think very hard of it — if not harder. 

That's the way to talk it. I ain't agoin' to commit 
myself. I know when to put on the brakes. I ain't 
goin' to say all I think. Nary time. No, sir. But 
I'll jest tell you, Artemus, and you may tell it to your 
show. If we ain't allowed to express our sentiments, 
we can take it out in liatin'; and hatin' runs heavy 
in my family, sure. I hated a man once so bad that 
all the hair cum off my head, and the man drowned 
himself in a hog-waller that night. I could do it agin, 
])ut you s(^e I'm tryin' to harmonize, to acquiess, to 
becum calm and screen. 

Now, I suppose that, poetically speakin', 
" In Dixie's fall, 
We sinned all. ' ' 

But talkin' the way I see it, a big feller and a little 
feller, so-called, got into a lite, and they font and font 
a long time, and everybody all 'round kept hollerin,' 
"hands off," but helpin' the big feller, until finally 



Bill Arp. 89 

the little feller caved in and hollered enuf. He made 
a bully fite, I tell you. Well, what did the bi<i^ feller 
do? Take him by the hand and help him up, and 
brush the dirt off his clothes ? Nary time ! No, sur ! 
But he kicked him arter he was down, and throwed 
mud on him, and drugged him about and rubbed sand 
in his eyes, and now he's gwine about huntin' up his 
poor little property. Wants to confiscate it, so-called. 
Blame my jacket if it ain't enuf to make your head 
swim. 

But I'm a good Union man, so-called. I ain't 
agwine to fight no more. / shan't vote for the next 
war. / ain 't no gurrilla. I 've done tuk the oath, and 
I'm gwine to keep it, but as for my bein' subjugated, 
and humilayted, and amalgamated, and enervated, as 
Mr. Chase says, it ain't so — nary time. I ain't 
ashamed of nutliin' neither — ain't repentin' — ain't 
axin' for no one-horse, short-winded pardon. Nobody 
needn's be playin' priest around me. I ain't got no 
twenty thousand dollars. Wish I had; I'd give it to 
these poor widders and orfins. I'd fatten my own 
numerous and interestin' offspring in about two min- 
utes and a half. They shouldn't eat roots and drink 
branch-water no longer. Poor unfortunate things! 
to cum into this subloonary world at such a time. 
There's four or five of them that never saw a sirkis or 
piece of chees, nor a reesin. There's Bull Run Arp, 
and Harper's Ferry Arp, and Chicahominy Arp, that 
never saw the pikters in a spellin' book. I tell you, 
my friends, we are the poorest people on the face 



90 Bii.L Arp. 

of the earth — but we are poor and proud. We made 
a bully fite, and the whole American nation ought to 
feel proud of it. It shows what Americans can do 
when they think they are imposed upon. Didn't our 
four fathers fight, bleed and die about a little tax on 
tea, when not one in a thousand drunk it? Bekaus 
they succeeded, wasn't it glory? But if they hadn't, 
I suppose it Would have been treason, and they would 
have been boAvin' and scrapin' round King George 
for pardon. So it goes, Artemus, and to my mind, if 
the whole thing was stewed down it would make about 
half a pint of humbug. We had good men, great 
men. Christian men, who thought we was right, and 
many of them have gone to the undiscovered country, 
and have got a pardon as is a pardon. When I die 
I am mighty willing to risk myself under the shadow 
of their wings, whether the climate be hot or cold. 
So mote it be. 

Well, maybe I've said enough. But I don't feel 
easy yet. I'm a good Union man, certain and sure. 
I've had my breeches died blue, and I've bot a blue 
bucket, and I very often feel hlue^ and about twice 
in a while I go to the doggery and git blue, and then 
I look up at the bliw cerulean heavens and sing the 
melancholy chorus of the Blue-tailed Fly. I'm doin' 
my durndest to harmonize, and think I could succeed 
if it wasn't for sum things. 

I don't want much. I ain't ambitious, as I used 
to was. You all have got your shows and monkeys 
and sircusses and brass bands and organs, and can 



BiLTi Arp. 91 

play on the patrolyum and the harp of a thousand 
strings, and so on, but I've only got one favor to ax 
you. I want enough powder to kill a big yaller stump- 
tail dog that prowls around my premises at night. 
Pon my honor, I won't shoot at anything blue or 
black or mulatter. Will you send it? Are you and 
your folks so skecred of me and my folks that you 
won't let us have any ammunition? Are the squirrels 
and crows and black racoons to eat up our poor little 
corn-patches? Are the wild turkeys to gobble all 
around with impunity? If a mad dog takes the hider- 
phoby, is the whole community to run itself to death 
to get out of the way ? I golly ! it looks like your 
people had all took the rebel foby for good, and was 
never gwine to get over it. See here, my friend, you 
must send me a litle powder and a ticket to your 
show, and me and you will harmonize sertin. 

With these few remarks I think I feel better, and 
I hope I han't made nobody fitin' mad, for I'm not 
on that line at this time. 

I am truly your friend, all j) resent or accounted 
for. 



92 BiLT^ Arp. 



CHAPTER X. 



Smoking the Pipe of Peace. 

I love to meet a nabor and hear him say; "how's 
craps?" I continue to like farmin', I like it better 
and better, except that the wheat is sumwhat doubt- 
ful about making a crop. A little long bug with a 
tail at both ends has got in the joints and sucked the 
sap out, and it's fallin' down in patches. Looks 
like there is always some thin' preyin on somethin', 
and nothin' is safe from disaster in this subloonary 
world. Flies and bugs and rust prey on the green 
wheat. Weevils eat it up when it's cut and put 
away. Rats eat the corn — moles eat the gubbers — 
hawks eat the chickens — the minks killed three of our 
ducks in one night — cholera kills the hogs — and the 
other night one of my nabor 's mules cum along with 
the blind staggers and fell up a pair of seven steps 
right into my front gate and died without kickin'. 
Then there is briars and nettles and tread safts and 
smartsweed and poison that's always in the way on a 
farm, and must be looked after keerfuUy, especially 
snakes, which are my eternal horror, and I shall al- 
ways believe are sum kin to the devil himself. I can't 
tolerate such long insects. But we farmers hav to 
take the bad with the good, and there is more good 
than bad with me up to the present time. 



Bill Arp. 93 

I wonder if Harris ever say a pack saddle. Well, 
it's as pretty as a rainbow, just like the most all of 
the devil's contrivances, and when you crowd one 
of 'em on a fodderblade you'd think that forty yaller 
jackets had stung you all in a bunch and with malice 
aforethought. And there's the devil's race horse 
which plies around about this time and, Uncle Isam 
says, chaws tobakker like a gentleman, and if he spit 
in your eyes you'd go blind in a half a second. And 
one day he showed me the devil's darning needle 
which mends up the old fellow's stockins, and the 
devil's snuff box which explodes when you mash it, 
and one ounce of the stuff inside will kill a sound 
mule before he can lay down. Then there's some 
flowers that he wears in his button-hole called the 
devil's shoestring and the devil in the bush. 

I like farmin'. Its an honest, quiet life, and it 
does me so much good to work and get all over in a 
sweat of prespiration. I enjoy my innble food and 
my repose, and get up every mornin' renewed and 
rejuvenated like an eagle in his flight, or words to 
that effect. I know I shall like it more and more, for 
we have already passed over the Rubycon, and are 
beginnin' to reap the rewards of industry. Spring 
chickens have got ripe, and the hens keep bloomin' 
on. Over 200 now respond to my wife's call 
every morning, as she totes around the bread tray 
a-singin' teheeky, teheeky, teheeky. I tell you, she 
watches those birds close for she knows the value of 
'em. She was raised a Methodist, she was, and many 



94 BiT.L Arp. 

• 

a time has watched through the crack of the door 
sadly, and seen the preachers helped to the last giz- 
zard in the dish. There was 54 chickens, 7 ducks, 5 
goslins, 12 turkeys and seven pigs, hatched out last 
week, and Daisy had a calf and Mollie a colt, besides. 
This looks like bisness, don't it? This is what I call 
successful farmin' — multiplying and replenishing 
according to Scripter. Then we have a plenty of peas 
and potatoes and other garden yerbs, which helps a 
poor man out, and by the 4th of July will have wheat 
bread and buiskit and blackberry pies, and pass a 
regular declaration of independence. 

I like farmin'. I like latitude and longitude. 
When we were penned up in town my children 
couldn't have a sling-shot, or a bow and arrow, nor a 
chicken fight in the back yard, nor sick a dog on 
another dog, nor let off a big Injun whoop, without 
some neighbor making a fuss about it. And then, 
again, there was a show, or a dance, or a bazar, or a 
missionary meeting most every night, and it did look 
like the children were just obleeged to go, or the 
world would come to an end. It was money, money, 
money all the time, but now there isn't a store or a 
milliner shop within five miles of us, and we do our 
own worlv, and have learned what it costs to make a 
bush(4 of corn and a barrel of flour, and by the time 
Mrs. Arp has nursed and raised a lot of chickens and 
turkeys, she thinks so much of 'em she don't want us 
to kill 'em, and they are a heap better and fatter than 
any we used to buy. We've got a great big fire-place 



Bill Arp. 95 

in the family room, and can boil the coffee, or heat 
a kettle of water on the hearth if we want to, for we 
are not on the lookout for company all the time like 
we used to be. We don't cook half as much as we 
used to, nor waste a whole parsel every day on the 
darkey, and we eat what is set before us, and are 
thankful. 

It's a wonder to me that everybody don't go to 
farmin'. Lawyers and doctors have to set about town 
and play checkers, and talk politics and wait for 
somebody to quarrel or fight, or get sick; clerks and 
book-keepers figure and multiply and count until 
they get to counting the stars and the flies on the ceil- 
ing, and the peas in the dish, and the flowers on the 
papering; the jeweler sits by his window all the year 
round, working on little wheels, and the mechanic 
strikes the same kind of a lick every day. These peo- 
ple do not belong to themselves; they are all penned 
up like convicts in a chain-gang; they can't take a 
day nor an hour for recreation, for they are the ser- 
vants of their employers. There is no profession that 
gives a man such freedom, such latitude, and such 
a variety of employment as farmin'. 

While I was ruminating this morning, a boy come 
along and said the dogs had treed something down 
in the bottom. So me and my boys shouldered the 
guns and an ax, and took Mrs. Arp and the children 
along to see the sport. We cut down a hollow gum 
tree, and caught a 'possum and two squirrels, and 
killed a rabbit on the run, and had "a good time gen- 



96 Bill Arp. 

erally, with no loss on our side. We can stop work 
most any time to give welcome to a passing friend 
and have a little chat, and our nabors do the same 
by US; but if you go into one of these factories or 
workshops, or even a printing office, the first sign- 
board that greets you says, "Don't talk to the work- 
men." Sociable crowd, ain't it? 

There's no m^onotony upon the farm. There's 
something new every day, and the changing work 
brings into action every muscle in the human frame. 
We plow and hoe, and harrow and sow, and gather it 
in at harvest-time. We look after the horses and 
cows, the pigs and sows, and the rams and the lambs, 
and the chickens, and the turkeys, and geese. We cut 
our own wood, and raise our own bread and meat, and 
don't have to be stingy of it like city folks. A friend, 
who' visited us not long ago, wrote back from the town 
that his grate don't seem bigger than the crown of 
his hat since he sat by our great big friendly fire- 
place. 

But they do git the joak on me sometimes, for you 
see, I'm farmin' according to schedule, and it don't 
always make things exactly luminous. Fur instance, 
it is said that cotton seed was an excellent fertilizer. 
Well, I had 'em, and as they was a clean, nice thing 
to handle, I put 'em under most everything in my 
garding. I was a-runnin' ingun sets heavy, and one 
mornin' went out to peruse 'em and I saw the 
straight track of a big mole under every row. He 
had jest histed 'em all up about three inches. He 



Bill Arp. 97 

hadn't eat nary one, and thinks I to myself, he's 
goin' around a-smellin' of 'em. Next mornin, all my 
sets was a settin' about six inches up in the air and 
on top of the thickest stand of cotton you ever did 
see. Nov,', if I had known about spilin' of 'em, as 
my nabors call it, before we used 'em it would have 
been more luminous. Howsoever, I knifed 'em down 
and set the ingims back again, and nobody ain't got 
a finer crop. 

It's a great comfort to me to set in my piazzer 
these pleasant evenings and look over the farm, and 
smoke the pipe of peace, and ruminate. Ruminate 
upon the rise and fall of empires and parties and 
presidents and preachers. I think when a man has 
passed the R-ubicon of life, and seen his share of 
trouble, smokin' is allowable, for it kinder reconciles 
him to live on a while longer, and promotes philo- 
sophic reflections. I never knowed a high-tempered 
man to be fond of it. 

I may be mistaken, but it seems to me a little higher 
grade of happiness to look out upon the green fields 
of wheat and the leafing trees and the blue mountains 
in the distance and hear the dove cooing to her mate, 
and the whippoorwill sing a welcome to the night, and 
hunt flowers and bubby blossoms with the children, 
and make whistles for 'em and hear 'em blow, and 
see 'em get after a jumpin' frog or a garter snake, 
and hunt hen's nests, and paddle in the branch and 
get dirty and wet all over, and watch their penitent 
and subdued expression when they go home, as Mv^.. 



98 Bill Arp. 

Arp looks at 'em with amazement and exclaims, 
"Mercy on me; did ever a poor mother have suiah a 
set? Will I ever get done making clothes? Put 
these on right clean this morning,and not another 
clean rag in the house! Get me a switch, right 
straight; go! I will not stand it!" But she will 
stand it, and they know it — especially if I remark, 
''Yes, they ought to be whipped." That saves 'em, 
and by the time the switch comes the tempest is over, 
and some dry clothes are found, and if there is any 
cake in the house they get it. Blessed mother ! Fort- 
unate children! What would they do without her? 
Why her very scolding is music in their tender ears. 
I'm thankful that there are some things that corner 
in the domestic circle that Wall street cannot buy nor 
money kings depress. 



Bill Arp. 99 



CHAPTER XI. 



• Trials and Tribulations. 

''All the world's a stage," as Mr. Shakespeare 
says, and all the men and women merely travelers. 
It is a mighty big stage, of course — in fact, an omni- 
bus, for it carries us all, and we are traveling along 
and getting in and getting out all along the line, and 
ever and anon stopping by the wayside to nurse our 
sick and bury our dead. There is nothing else that 
puts on the brakes as we move down the big road on 
the journey of life. Sickness and death are a veto 
upon all progress, and upon plans, and schemes, and 
hopes, and ambition, and fame, and fashion and folly. 
We suffer awhile and stop awhile, but if we don't die 
we get in the stage again and move on with the crowd. 
Sickness knocks up a man and humbles him quicker 
than anything. Just let the pitiless angel of pain 
come along suddenly and seize him by some vital 
part and twist him around a time or two and shake 
him up, and he will know better what the word tor- 
ture means when he reads it in a book. I thought 
I was a strong man and tough, and so the angel has 
had no terrors for me. I've had the toothache and 
mashed my big toe with a crow-bar and got around 
lively with a green-corn dance, but after it was over 
I forgot the sting of it and only remembered the 
I „ ;■ /^ 



100 Bill Arp. 

joke. But there are some things without any joke, 
and that won't let you forget 'em, and when they 
come and go they leave you humbled and hacked and 
as meek as a lamb with his legs tied. They take 
away your pride, and your brag and your starch 
and stiffening. They strip you of flowers and fi*ills 
and thread lace and jewelrj^, and leave a poor mor- 
tal like a dependent beggar for the charity of health, 
good health. "If I was only well again," the poor 
victim sighs; "Oh, if I w^as only well again." 

When a man gets along to my age he forgets that 
he is on the down grade; that he is like a second- 
hand wagon patched up and painted and sold at 
auction to the highest bidder. It will run mighty 
well on a smooth road and a light load and a care- 
ful driver, but it won't do to lock wheels with 
another, or run into a gully, or over stumps, or up to 
the hubs in the low grounds. A man is very much 
like a wagon, anyhow, for his shoulders and hips 
are the axle-trees and his arms and legs are the 
wheels and the wagon-body is his body and the 
coupling-pole is his spine and the hounds are his 
kidneys — his reins, as the Scriptures call 'em — and 
they brace up everything and hold up the tongue 
and the coupling-pole, and if the hounds are weak 
and rickety the hind wheels don't track with the 
fore wheels, and the whole concern moves along with 
a hitch and a jerk and a double wabble. "He try- 
eth the reins of the children of men," for that was 
the test of a man. If the kidneys were sound and 



Bill Arp. 101 

well ordered the man was right before the Lord, for 
in them was supposed to be centered the affections 
and passions and emotions of a man. Those old- 
time philosophers attached a good deal of import- 
ance to the kidneys, but I thought it was a super- 
stition of their ignorance, and I never cared much 
about my kidneys. In fact, I didn't care whether 
I^ had any kidneys or not, for I was thinking what 
Judge Underwood told me a long time ago about the 
spleen, which he said was only put there to make 
men splenetic and cross, and keep 'em from getting 
over joyful in this subloonary world. I thought that 
maybe the kidneys were like the liver of a man over 
in California, which was crushed out of him in a 
mine some fifty years ago, when he was about fifty 
years old, but he was sewed up and got well, and 
he is a hundred years old and not a hair turned 
grey, nor a wrinkle come, nor his eyes grown dim, 
nor his teeth come out, and he keeps well and sound 
and plumb and active, and goes to balls, and never 
has an ache or a pain, and its all because his liver 
is gone. Jesso. 

Well, you see I had promised to build a dam across 
the branch down in the willow thicket and make 
a bathing pool for the children; and so a few days 
ago I went at it with a will, and got my timbers 
across and my boards nailed on slanting up the 
stream to a rock bottom, and then I put on some 
old boots and old clothes and went to chinkin' up 
the leaks with turf and gravel and willow brush and 



102 Bill Arp. 

sand bags, and as fast as I stopped one leak another 
broke ont; but I worked fast and worked hard, and 
the children waited on me and brought me material, 
and after awhile the water began to rise on me, and 
got higher till it went over the dam. It was then 
about noon, and the hot sun was blistering down, 
and the cold spring water was chilling me up, and 
I begun to feel age and infirmity; so I took a bath 
myself, and put on my dry clothes and retired to 
rest from my labors. That evening I listened to the 
shouts of happy children as they frolicked in the 
pool, and I rejoiced, for it always makes me happy 
to see them happy. The next day I dident get up 
well, and as I was a knockin ' around in my garden, a 
holdin' up my back, shore enough, without any 
warnin', the unfeelin' angel of pain come along sud- 
denly and snapped me up by the left kidney like 
he wanted to wrestle, and took an underholt, and 
he spun me around with such a jerk I almost lost 
my breath with agony, and he pummeled me and 
humped me all the way to the house, and threw me 
on the bed while I hollered. ''What in the world 
is the matter with you, William?" says my wife, 
Mrs. Arp, says she to me; and the children all gath- 
ered round and thought I was snake bit. ''I've got 
a turrible pain round here, ' ' says I ; " turrible, turri- 
ble. Oh, Lordy!" They filled up the stove in a 
hurry, and brought water; and they gave me cam- 
phor, and paregoric, and one thing another; but I 
got worse, and groaned and grunted amazingly, for 
I tell you I was sufferin'. 



Bill Arp. 103 

"I expected it! I expected it!" says Mrs. Arp, 
as she moved round lively. ''I just knew some 
trouble would come from all that dam business of 
yesterday." My stomach had suddenly got out of 
order — I ^lon't know how — for everything they give 
me come up before it was down; and so they tried 
salts and quinine and hot water and pain-killer, and 
morphine, and magnum bonum, and everything in 
the house, but nothing would stick, and at last the 
pain left just as suddenly as it came on, and I went 
to sleep. But my system was all out of order; the 
machinery wouldn't work nowhere. The cold sweat 
poured from me all night, and I dreamed I was away 
off in a wet prairie, lying down in the cold grass, 
hiding from a herd of buffaloes, and I woke up with 
a shaking ague and had to have my night clothes 
changed and dried off like a race horse. The morn- 
ing brought another attack still worse than the first, 
but the good Dr. Kirkpatrick came in time and put 
me on morphine and spirits of nitre, a hot bath and 
shortened up the time, and told me my trouble was 
in the kidneys, and what was going on, and when 
he left me I was easy and meek and humble, and 
could look around on my wife and children like no- 
body was a sinner but me. When I was awake I 
could look up at the old whitewash that was peeling 
off from the ceiling, and see all sorts of pictures I 
never saw before. They took shapes innumerable, 
for there were monkeys and "camels, and bear and 
buzzards, and turtles, and big Injuns, and little 



104 Bill Arp. 

Frenclimen, and old witches, and anacondas and 
other menagerie animals all out of shape, and funny 
and fantastic; and while I was asleep I dreamed 
ridiculous dreams, and the quinine that was in me 
made me to hear waterfalls and mill-dams,^ and once 
I imagined the dam I had built had grown and 
swelled until Niagara was but a circumstance com- 
pared to it. But alas, there is no rest for the wicked, 
for although I had escaped for a day and night, and 
was banking upon bright hopes and returning health, 
the unfeeling angel came along again, and seeing me 
recovering from the fight, began on me with a second 
assault, and beat up my left kidney again till it was 
in a jelly and as sore and sensitive as a carbuncle. 
While he was beating me I seemed to hear him say, 
"You didn't know you had kidneys, did you?" 
' ' About a dozen, ' ' said I ; " eight or ten anyhow, and 
they are as big and heavy as shot bags." The fact 
is that my left side was so sore and I was so nervous 
that it almost gave me a spasm to think of anybody 
touching me there with a stick. But the torture all 
of a sudden left me, as suddenly as it came, and the 
breath, good and free, could get way once more. But 
now I think I am all safe, and Richard is himself 
again. Good nursing and the doctor's skill and pa- 
tience has got the wagon in traveling condition, and 
now I think I will make friends with my kidneys and 
a treaty of peace with the angel, and the treaty is 
that I am to build no more dams during life, if I 
have to wade in the water to do it. 



Bill Arp. 105 



CHAPTER XII. 



Love Affairs. 

Married and gone. It is the same old story. Love 
and courtship. Then comes the engagement ring and 
a blessed interval of fond hopes and happy dreams, 
and then the happy day is fixed — the auspicious day 
that is never to be forgotten — a day that brings hap- 
piness or misery and begins a new life. Then comes 
the license, the permit of the law which says you may 
marry, you may enter into bonds. The State ap- 
proves it and the law allows it, and it will cost you 
only a dollar and a quarter. Cheap, isn't it? And 
yet it may be very dear. Then comes the minister, 
and the happy pair stand up before him and make 
some solemn vows and listen to a prayer and a bene- 
diction, and they are one. In a moment the trusting 
maid has lost her name and her free will, and is tied 
fast to a man. Well, he is tied fast, too, so it is all 
right all round, I reckon; but somehow I always feel 
more concern about the woman than the man. She is 
a helpless sort of a creature and takes the most risk, 
for she risks her all. 

We gave him a cordial welcome into the family, 
and we kissed her lovingly and bade them good-bye, 
and the children threw a shower of rice over them 
and an old shoe after them, and they were soon on 



106 Bill Arp. 

their way to the land of flowers. She was not our 
child, but was almost, for Mrs. Arp was the only 
mother she ever knew, and we loved her. 

I sat in my piazza ruminating over the scene, and 
I wonderd that there were as many happy matings as 
there seem to be. Partners for life ought to be con- 
genial and harmonious in so many things. When 
men make a partnership in business they can't get 
along well if they are unlike in disposition or in 
moral principle, or in business ways and business 
habits. But they can dissolve and separate at pleas- 
ure and try another man. 

A man and his wife ought to be alike in almost 
everything. It is said that folks like their opposite, 
their counterparts, and so they do in some respects. 
A man with blue eyes goes mighty nigh distracted 
over a woman with hazel eyes. I did, and I'm dis- 
tracted yet whenever I look into them. But in men- 
tal qualities and emotional qualities and tastes and 
habits and principles and convictions and the like, 
they ought to class together. Indeed, it is better for 
them to have the same politics and the same religion. 
And so I have observed that the happiest unions, as 
a general thing, are those where the high contracting 
parties have known each other for a long time, and 
have assimilated from their youth in thought and 
feeling. When a man goes off to some watering place 
and waltzes a few times with a charming girl and 
falls desperately in love and marries her off hand, 
it is a long shoot and a narrow chance for happiness. 



Bill Arp. 107 

Why, we may live in the same town with people and 
not know as much about them as we ought to. I 
never made any mistake about my choice of a part- 
ner for the dance of life, but I've thought of it a 
thousand times that if Mrs. Arp had known I loved 
codfish and got up by daybreak every morning, she 
never would have had me. It was nip and tuck to 
get her anyhow, and that would have been the feather 
to break the camel's back. Well, I'm mortal glad 
she didn't know it, though I am free to say that if 
I had known she slept until the second ringing of the 
first bell for breakfast and was fond of raw oysters, 
it would have had a dampening effect upon my ardor 
for a few minutes, only a few. But I have seen some 
mighty clever people eat oysters raw and sleep late 
in the morning. But still a man and his wife can 
harmonize and compromise a good many of these 
things, and it is a beautiful illustration of this to 
see Mrs. Arp cooking codfish for me and fixing it all 
up so nice with eggs and cream, and it is a touching 
evidence of my undying devotion to her, to see me 
wandering about the house lonely and forlorn every 
morning for an hour or two, and forbidding even the 
cat to walk heavy while she sleeps. That codfish 
business comes to me honestly from my fathers' side, 
and my mother put up with it like a good, consider- 
ate wife, and we children grew up with an idea that 
it was good. I've heard of a young couple who got 
married and went off to Augusta on a tour, and the 
feller stuck his fork into a codfish ball and took a 



108 Bill Arp. 

bite. He choked it down like a hero, and when his 
beloved asked him what was the matter, replied: 
"Don't say anything about it, Mandy, bnt as sure as 
you are born there is something dead in the bread." 
Well, we can make compromises about all such 
things as habits and tastes, but there are some things 
that won't compromise worth a cent. If a girl has 
been brought up to have a good deal of freedom, and 
thinks it no harm to go waltzing around with every 
gay Lothario who loves to dance, and after she gets 
a feller of her own, wants to keep at it and have pol- 
luted arms around her waist, she had just as well 
sing farewell to conjugal love and domestic peace, 
for it is against the order of nature for a loving hus- 
band to stand it, and he oughtn't. There is another 
thing that ought to be considered, and that is age. 
A few years makes no difference, but an old man had 
better be careful about marrying a young wife. He 
won't be happy but about two weeks, and then his 
misery will begin and it will never end. It may be 
better for a woman to be an old man's darling than 
a young man's slave, but she had better be neither. 
When a young girl marries an old man for his money 
she has gone back on herself, for money don't bring 
happiness. Money helps, but money with a dead 
w^eight is a curse — an aggravation. I was talking one 
day to an old man, a Frenchman, who had made a 
hermit of himself, and was living all alone in the 
woods, and he said: "Mine frien', I have made one 
grand meestake. My first wife whom I marry ven I 



Bill Arp. 109 

vos young vas an angel from heaven, God bless lier, 
but mine last wife she did not come up from dere, 
she come dis vay" — and he pointed downwards. "I 
vas old and she vas young. I had money and she 
had none. I marry her in haste and repent at my 
leisure. I try to live wid her tree years, but we were 
not compatible. It was against the order of nature 
and I found myself a fool and a prisoner, and so I 
geeve her half my monies and run away from her 
and hide in dis vilderness, and here vill I live and 
here vill I die, and ven I go oop to St. Peter and 
tell heem how dat voman trouble me on earth, de good 
man will open de garden gate and say come in, my 
brother, for you have had trouble enough." 

Country marriages are generally happier than 
those made in cities among the families of the rich. 
Children raised to work and to wait on themselves 
make better husbands and better wives than those 
raised in luxury. It is mighty hard for a man to 
please his wife and keep her in a good humor if she 
has been petted by her parents and never knew a 
want and had no useful work to do. She soon takes 
the ennui or the conniptions or the ' ' don 't know what 
I want," and must go back to ma. A young lady 
who never did anything after she quit school but dress 
for company and make visits and go to the theatre 
or the dance, will never make a good wife. This 
wife business is a very serious business. It is right 
hard work to play wife. The mother of six, eight 
or ten children has seen sights. She knows what care 



110 Bill Arp. 

is and work is^ and one of these do-nothing women 
can't stand it. If she is a used up institution with 
one child, two will finish her, and if it wasn't for 
condensed milk the children would perish to death 
in a month after they were born, and sorter like the 
cows in Florida. I heard a Florida man say the 
other day that a Florida cow dident give enough milk 
to color the coffee for breakfast, and they had to raise 
the calves on the bottle. Getting married ought to be 
a considerate business. Folks oughtn't to get mar- 
ried in a hurry; neither ought they to wait four or 
five years. Six months is long enough for an engage- 
ment. I don't mean children; I mean grown folks 
who have settled down in life and know what they 
are about. There is no goodlier sight in all nature 
than to see a good-looking, healthy young man, who 
is making an honest living, standing up at the altar 
with a pure, sweet, good-tempered, affectionate, in- 
dustrious girl, and the parents on both sides approv- 
ing the match. Then the big pot ought to be put in 
the little pot, and everybody rejoice. 



Bill Arp. Ill 



CHAPTER XIIL 



Tells of His Wife ^s Birthday. 

It is impossible for a man or a woman either to 
be calm and serene when surprised by awful and ter- 
rible things, unless they are always prepared for 'em, 
which they ain't. I have been wanting" to see some 
big thing all my life, but I wanted to be in a safe 
place while it happened, and at a very respectable dis- 
tance. I would have liked to have been there when 
Vesuvius run over and swallowed up Herculaneum 
and Pompeii, and I want to feel the shake of a big- 
earthquake a mile or two away from the crack. I 
would enjoy a storm at sea and a genuine shipwreck 
if I knew we were to strike some rock not far from 
shore and eventually be saved. I've been reading 
every now and then about those awful storms and 
winds that of late years have been perusing the 
country below us and blowing wagons up in the tree 
tops and shingles through solid oak trees and carry- 
ing houses away and twisting off timber like it was 
wheat straw, and I thought I would like to see a 
young cyclone meandering around, just to get the 
hang of the thing, and shore enough a little one come 
along here last Sunday and made a call without any 
premonition, and now I'm satisfied, and don't hanker 
after any more such visitations. We were sitting on 



112 Bill Arp. 

the piazza watch ing: the black clouds as they loomed 
up in the west, and listening to the rumbling thunder, 
when suddenly the roar of coming winds was lieard, 
and the storm came in sight over the brow of Mum- 
ford's mountain, and came down the valley before 
us with the big drops of rain in front, and then the 
hail following after, and the wind like a tornado. 
We hurried down the windov/ sash and took in the 
chairs, and before we knew it it took two of us to 
shut the front door, and so we retreated to the back 
piazza, and by the time we got there the roof was 
rattling like a million buck-shot was being poured 
on it from a big dump-cart away up yonder, and it 
covered the ground and banked up in the back yard 
about three inches deep, and while we were all a 
wondering what the thing would do next, the wind 
shifted around and around and come from the east 
as hard as it did from the west, and pretty soon it 
was coming from all points of the compass and every- 
where else all at once, and slammed all the doors and 
twisted the tree tops around and around, and I was 
a-fixing to move the family down in the basement, 
when suddenly my v/ife, Mrs. Arp, says she to me, 
"Where is Carl and where is Ralph?" "They are 
down in the barn, ' ' said I, calmly ; ' ' they are all safe, 
for the barn is under the hill. " " Merciful heavens, ' ' 
said she, ' ' I know something will happen to 'em. You 
must go after 'em." So I put on the oilcloth and 
fooled round for an umbrel and couldn't find one, 
and it wouldn't have been any more than a fly in a 



Bill Arp. 113 

hurricane noliow, and I heard the Ihnbs a-popping; and 
saw the trees a-bending, and the hail was getting big- 
ger and more thicker and more denser, and I knowed 
the little boys were safe, and so I kept foolin' round 
and round until shore enough I dident go, and Mrs. 
Arp she calmed down a little, for about this time 
the storm abated a little and we could see the boys 
looking out from the barn windows. I ain't tellin' 
no lie when I say that fall of rain and hail dident 
last more than fifteen minutes, but it raised the 
branch that crosses the big road by my house five 
feet in half an hour and spread out all over the 
meadow and up and down the road for a hundred 
yards, and a nabor come along from town in a buggy 
and had to swim it, horse and all, and he said the 
road was as dry as a powder horn at Felton's chapel, 
and another man came from the other way and said 
it was all dust at Bishops, and this showed me that 
the storm-path was only about a mile wide, and it 
was obliged to have been a cyclone, for we have heard 
of it going on about the same way and tearing things 
up fearfully. One nabor had a big tree blown on his 
barn, and a lad of a boy was in there and it skeered 
him so he tried to run head foremost home, and the 
wind picked him up and spun him round like a hum- 
min' top and then laid him down flat and told him 
to stay there, and he stayed. The oats that had not 
been harvested looked just like a big iron roller had 
been rolled over 'em and then the whole concern ironed 
out smooth with a flat iron. Yfe've been mighty busy 

(5) 



114 Bill Arp. 

mowin.cr 'om with tlie machine, and have managed to 
save 'em pretty well, though it's right hard to tell 
which is the best end of the bundles. But they will 
thrash all the same, and no loss on our side. The 
rail fences on nabor Cotton's hill went to playin' 
Jack-straws, and the corn looks like the blades had 
all been drawn through a shuck riddle. Nearly all 
my tomatoes have got a bruise on 'em, and the grapes 
are pretty much in the same fix. Squash leaves and 
cabbage leaves are riddled with holes, but after all 
I can't see any very serious damage, and we are try- 
ing to be calm and serene. Well, I believe the cyclone 
did sorter surprise two nice young gentlemen who were 
perusing the girls at our house, and when they went 
out in the hail to keep their horse and buggy from 
running away the storm got so bad, and they got so 
damp and moist all over, they had to go home prema- 
turely, which we didn't approve, for w^e could have 
made a fire and dried 'em in a few minutes, or they 
could have put on some of my garments, which would 
have been more than a foot or a foot and a half too 
short at both ends. But they are young and hopeful, 
and went off down the road singing Hail Columbia, 
happy land, Ilail Boreas and be hanged. 

We've had a birthday at our house. There are big 
birthdays and little ones, common ones and uncom- 
mon ones ; when the female patriarch of a family, the 
queen of the household, meets her sixtieth birthday 
and has got too much sense to go back on her age or 
be ashamed of it, it is an event, it is, sorter like a 



Bill Arp. 115 

golden wedding or the declaration of independence 
or some other big thing. But there is no collapse, no 
surrender, no let down, not a silver thread among the 
raven hair, no crow's feet or wrinkled brow, no loss 
of speech or language, no weakness of memory. 
Sometimes I wish she would forget something, but she 
can't, and my short-comings, like Banquo's ghost, 
come up before me ever and anon. So the queen had 
a birthday dinner, and she got a nice new dress and a 
hall lamp and a beautiful chair and a pair of pea- 
fowls wherewith to raise her own fly brushes, and 
that night we had music and dancing and song, for 
Solomon says old age is honorable, and I never could 
see any good sense in a woman or a widower trying 
to conceal it. I never expect to be either the one or 
the other, and can't appreciate their peculiar feelings, 
but I never hear of a married woman concealing her 
advancing years but I think she is fixing the triggers 
for a second husband before the first one dies. But 
one thing is certain — there's no triggers about our 
house, and there will be no step-father to my children, 
for, as Mrs. Arp says, sometimes a burnt child dreads 
the fire. Jesso. 



116 Bilij Arp. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Mrs. Arp Goes Off on a Visit. 

Man was not made to live alone. I don't mean like 
Robinson Cruso, but alone in a house without a wom- 
an — a help-mate, a pard. It's an awful thing to come 
in and find the maternal chair vacant, even for a 
season. I know she has gone, but I still imagine she 
is somewhere on the premises a circulatin' around 
and around. I am listenin' for the rustle of her 
dress or the creak of her nimble shoe — she wears 
number 2's, with a high instep, and walks like a deer. 
Ever and anon methinks I hear her accustomed voice 
saying, "William, "William — major, come here a mo- 
ment. ' ' 

What wonderful resolution some women have got! 
Mrs. Arp has at last departed. She has undertook a 
journey. For several weeks it has been the family 
talk. Some said she would get off and some said she 
wouldent. As for herself, she was serious and non- 
committal, but we daily observed that the big old 
trunk that contained the accumulated fragments of 
better days was being diligently ransacked. Scraps 
of lace, and lawn, and ribbon, and silk, and velvet, 
and muslin, and bumbazeen, and cassimere, were 
brought forth and aired, and the flat iron kept busy 
pressing and smoothing the wrinkles that age had 



Bill Arp. 117 

furrowed in them. All sorts of patterns from Dem- 
orest, and Ehrick and Bntterick, were overhauled 
and consulted with a kind of sad reality. A woman 
may be too poor to buy calico at five cents a yard, 
but she will have patterns. Little jackets, and pants, 
and shirts, little dresses, and drawers, and petticoats, 
and aprons had to be made up, and nobody but her 
knew what they would be made of. I tell you, one of 
these old-fashioned mothers is a miracle of grace. It 
ain't uncommon for folks nowadays to be their own 
tailors and dressmakers, but it takes sense and genius 
to get up a respectable outfit from scraps and old 
clothes outgrown or abandoned for ratage and leak- 
age. It was wonderful to see her rip 'em, and turn 
'em, and cut 'em, and twist 'em — getting a piece here 
and a scrap there, cutting them down to the pattern 
— running them through the machine, and before any- 
body knew it she had the little chaps arrayed as fine 
as a band-box and never called on anybody for a 
nickel. That's what I call the quintessence of do- 
mestic economy. Nobody can beat her in that line. 
She knows how to put the best foot foremost. Her 
children have got to look as decent as other people's, 
or she will keep 'em at home, certain. She don't go 
about much, and seems to grow closer and closer to 
the chimney corner; but when she does move it's a 
family sensation. Every one helps — every one ad- 
vises and encourages her in a subdued and respectful 
way. All want her to go off and rest and have a good 
time for her own sake, but tell her over and over how 



1.18 Bill Arp. 

much they will miss her, and wear a little shadow 
of sorrow in the nigh side of the face. I think though 
she suspected all the time they would turn up Jack 
while she was away. 

Well, she did get off at last — on a three hours' jour- 
ney and to stay a whole week. It was a tremendous 
undertaking, for she said the harness might break, or 
the buggy collapse, or the old mare run away on the 
road to town, and the cars might run off the track or 
break through a bridge, or not stop long enough for 
her to get off with the children, or let her off and 
take the children on, or some of us would get sick, or 
the house catch afire, or some tramp come along in 
the night and rob us and cut all our throats while we 
were asleep, and we wouldent know a thing about it 
till next morning. 

''Now, William," said she, "be mighty careful of 
everything, for you know how poor we are anyhow." 
"Poor as Lazarus," said I, "but he's a restin' in 
Abraham's bosom." "Well, never mind Lazarus," 
said she, "the paregoric and quinine and turpentine 
are on the shelf in the cabinet. I have hid the lauda- 
num, for it's dangerous, and you havent got more 
than half sense in the night time and might make a 
mistake. Don't let Ralph have the gun nor go to the 
mill pond. There are four geese a setting, and you 
must look after the goslins, and if you don't shoot 
that hawk spring chickens will be mighty scarce on 
this lot. And see here, William, I want you to take 
the beds oft' the bedsteads in my room and shut the 



Bill Arp. 119 

doors and windows and make a fire of sulphur in some 
old pan. They say it will just kill everything." 
''Must I stay inside or outside," said I, in a Cassibi- 
anca tone. ''Maybe you had better try it awhile in- 
side," said she, "just to see if you ever could get 
used to it. Now, William, take good care of every- 
thing, for you may never see me again. Somehow I 
feel like something's going to happen to me. Don't 
whip Ralph while I'm gone — the poor boy ain't well 
— he looks right pekid — and when you whipped Carl 
the other day the marks were all over his little legs." 
She always looks for marks — the little willows are soft 
as broom straws, but she is bound to find a faint 
streak or two, and there's a tear for every mark. 

"William, the buttons are all right on your shirts. 
Feed the little chickens until I come back. I think 
the buntin' hen is setting somewhere, and there's six 
eggs in my drawer that old Browny laid on my bed. 
If the children get sick you must telegraph me." 
"And if I get sick myself," said I, inquiringly — 
"Why there's the medicine in the cabinet," said she, 
"and you musent forget to water my pot-plants. I 
told Mr. Freeman to look after you and the boys, and 
Mrs. Freeman will keep an eye on the girls. Goodbye. 
Don't you cut the hams. I want them for company, 
and don't go in the locked pantry." I reckon she 
must have taken the key off with her, for we can't 
find it. ' ' Goodbye — take care of Bows. ' ' She kissed 
us all round and choked up a little and dropped a few 
tears and said she was ready. I looked at the clock 



120 Bill Arp. 

and told her we Goiild barely make it — five miles in 
an hour and five minutes, and the road muddy and 
the mule slow. She said she had never been left by 
the train in her life, and she didn't think she would 
be too late. I pressed the old mule through mud and 
slop, up hill and down hill. She was afraid of that 
mule, and when I larruped him she told me not to. 
Then he would put on the brakes, and she declared 
she would be left if I dident drive faster. We dident 
say much, but leaned forward and pressed forward 
in solemn energy as if the world hung upon the crisis. 
When we got within half a mile of tov/n the whistle 
blowed away down the road and we had a slick hill 
to clime. I larroped heavily and clucked every step 
of the way, and we made the trip just in time to be 
left. The train moved off right before us. It didn't 
seem to care a darn. We gazed at it with feelings 
of sublime despair. Mrs. Arp was looking dreamily 
away off into space when I ventured to remark, ' ' Shall 
we go back?" She quietly pointed to the St. James 
and replied, "Hotel." 

I saw her and little Jessie comfortably quartered 
in a nice room with a cheerful fire. Mr. Hoss, the 
landlord, was kind and sympathetic and promised 
she should not be left by the morning train, and so 
bidding them a sad goodbye I returned to my bairns. 
Take it all in all it was a big thing — a mighty big 
thing at my house. I'm poking around now hunting 
for consolation. She knows I'm desolate and is sor- 
ter glad of it. I know she is homesick already, but 



Bill Arp. 121 

she won't own it. She would stay away a whole 
year before she would own it. She wants me to beg 
her to come back soon, and I won't, for she left her 
other little darling with me, and he will bring her. 
I've half a mind to drop her a postal card and say: 
''Carl is not well, but don't be alarmed about him," 
and then go to meet her on the first train that could 
bring her, for I know she would be there. It does 
look like a woman with ten children wouldent be so 
foolish about one of them, but there's no discount on 
a mother's anxiety. Her last command was, "Keep 
Carl with you all the time, and tucl?: the cover under 
him good at night, bless his little heart." I wonder 
what would become of children if they didn't have 
a parent to spur 'em up. In fact, it takes a couple 
of parents to keep things straight at my house. Y<^s- 
terday the gray mule broke open the gate and let the 
cow and calf together. Carl left open another gate 
and the old sow got in the garden. Another boy has 
got a felon on his finger, and whines around and says 
his ma could cure it if she was here. He can't milk 
now, and so I thought I would try it, but old Bess 
wouldn't let nary drop down for me. I squeezed and 
pulled and tugged at her until she got mad and sud- 
denly lifted her foot in my lap and set it down in the 
bucket, whereupon I forgot my equilibrium, and when 
I got up I gave old Bess a satisfactory kick in the 
side and departed those coasts in great humility. It's 
not my forte to milk a cow. The wind blew over 
more trees across my fences. The clock run down. 



122 Bill Arp. 

Two lamp chimneys bursted. The fire popped out 
and burned a hole in the carpet while we were at 
supper, and everything is going wrong just because 
Mrs. Arp's gone. 

It's mighty still, and solemn, and lonely around 
here now. Lonely ain't the word, nor howlin' wilder- 
ness. There ain't any word to express the goneness 
and desolation that we feel. There is her vacant 
chair in the corner — 

Yes, the rocker still is sitting 

Just where she was ever knitting — 
Knitting for the bairns she bore. 

And now the room seems sad and dreary, 

And my soul is getting weary. 
And my heart is sick and sore — and so forth. 

The dog goes whining round — the maltese cats are 
mewing, and the children look lost and droopy. But 
we'll get over it in a day or two, maybe, and then for 
a high old time. 



Bill Arp. 123 



CHAPTER XV. 



The Voice of Spring. 

Hark, I hear a bluebird sing, 
And that 's a sign of coming spring. 
The bull-frog bellers in the ditches, 
He 's throwed away his winter breeches. 
The robin is bobbin' around so merry, 
I reckon he's drunk on a China berr3^ 
The hawk for infant chickens watcheth, 
And 'fore you know it one he cotcheth. 
The lizzard is sunning himself on a rail; 
The lamb is shaking his newborn tail. 
The darkey is plowing his stubborn mule, 
And gaily hollers, ''Gee, you fool." 
King Cotton has unfurled his banner. 
And scents the air with sweet guanner. 
The day grows long — the night 's declining. 
The Indian summer's sun is shining; 
The smoking hills are now on fire, 
And every night it 's climbing higher. 
The water warm, the weather fine, 
The time has come for hook and line; 
Adown the creek, around the ponds. 
Are gentlemen and vagabonds. 
And all our little dirty sinners 
Are digging bait and catching minners. 
The dogwood buds are now a-swelling, 
And yaller jonquills sweet are smelling; 
The little busy bees are humming. 
And every thing says spring is coming. 

It has been a hard old winter on man and beast; 
hard in weather and harder in fire and flood and pes- 



124 BiLii Arp. 

tilence and all sorts of unnatural troubles. The hor- 
rors of hotels burning up, and theatres and circuses 
shrouded in flames, and thousands of poor people 
made homeless and destitute by the raging waters, 
and smallpox marking its victims all over the land, 
is pitiful, most pitiful ; but I can 't get over the shock 
of those poor little children who were trampled to 
death in that school-room in New York City. I can't 
help but seeing them all laid out in the room together, 
and their parents hovering over their little disfigured 
and mangled corpses. The distressing scene haunts 
me. There is a power of trouble in the world that 
we know nothing about — trouble that we who live in 
the country do not have. Here there are no storms, 
no floods, no fires, no pestilence, no scarcity of v/ood, 
or of food or comfortable clothing. A poor man in 
the country is safer from all calamity than a rich 
one in the city. A poor man may lament his poverty 
and envy the rich, but he has no reason to. A man 
who makes a comfortable living on a farm has a 
greater security for life and liberty and happiness 
and long life than any other class that I know of. 
Cobe says he is getting along ' ' tolerable well, I thank 
you." Cobe is always calm and serene. He owns a 
mouse-colored mule, and has owned him ever since 
the war. That mule is one of the family and he 
knows it. The children play under him and over 
him, and between his legs, and the mule is happy too. 
Cobe has a chunk of a cow, and a sow and pigs, and 
about enough old rickety furniture to move in one 



Bill Arp. 125 

wagon load, and that's all Cobe has got except his 
wife and half a dozen little children, who live on corn 
bread and taters. And they are smart children, and 
healthy and good looking, though Cobe is called the 
ugliest man in the county, and I think enjoys his 
reputation. His face is of three colors and splotched 
about, and his mouth is in a twist one way and his 
nose in another, and his eyes are of a different color, 
and he, is hump-shouldered and walks pigeon-toed, but 
he don't care. His wife says he is just the best 
little man in the world. He works hard, he and the 
mule, and always says he is getting along "tolable," 
and finds no more trouble in supporting six children 
than he did one. He says there never was a 'possum 
born that dident find a 'simmon tree somewhere: 
Says he is raising his boys more for endurance than 
for show — for another war will come along about their 
time of day and he wants 'em to be able to stand it. 
Cobe is an honest man, and came from an honest 
family, and his wife did too, and their children are 
well-mannered, and they are getting a little schooling, 
and my opinion is that there is more hope and better 
hope for the country in that kind of stock than in 
the average children of the rich. They will make 
good, humble, law-abiding citizens, and they will work 
and produce something. When war or trouble 
comes, it is the yeomanry of the land we have to 
depend on. The children of the poor are running 
this Southern country now. They are the foremost 
men in most everything. They are the best mer- 



126 Bill Arp. 

chants in Atlanta and other cities — the best farmers, 
the best mechanics, and the best railroad men. Some 
of 'em make splendid bankers, if they do spell hog 
with a double g. Grammar may deceive, but figures 
don't lie. 

We are all mighty busy now in these parts. I can 
sit in my piazza and see over a good deal of farming 
territory, and the mules are moving up lively. They 
seem to know the spring is late and the farmers are 
behind time. But I don't sit long at a time, for the 
garden is to plant, and the rose bushes have to be 
trimmed, and the flower beds dressed off, and the 
compost scattered around, and the vines want new 
trellaces and everything got ready for a new suit of 
clothes. The old year is just now dead, and the new 
one is born with the spring. March used to be the 
first month and it ought to be now. I don't see what 
they ever changed it for. One hundred and twenty 
years ago our English forefathers took a notion to 
set old Father Time back a couple of months, without 
any good reason for it, and I think we ought to move 
up the clock and put him forward where he v/as. The 
spring is the new birth of nature, and is the type 
of our own resurrection. I don't believe that every- 
thing that dies will live again, but I do believe that 
everything that is good and beautiful will, even to 
animals, trees and flowers. This is a mighty pretty 
world we live in — mighty pretty, especially in the 
spring, and for fear of accidents I am willing to be 
a tenant a good while longer. 



Bill Arp. 127 

" I would not live always, 
I ask not to stay, ' ' 

is a very beautiful sentiment, provided a man is sure 

of a better home when he quits this one. But another 

poet sung with more caution and content when he 

said : 

" Tills w^orld is very lovely — oh, my God, 
I thank thee that I live. ' ' 

I reckon the majority of mankind are like the fel- 
low who said he dident want to go to heaven if he 
had to die to get there. Many would like for the 
ages of Adam and Methuselah to come back again. 
It wouldent do, though — it wouldent do at all, for if 
Jay Gould and Vanderbilt and company should live 
a thousand years they would gobble up the whole 
terrestrial concern and crowd us all off onto a plank 
in the ocean. On the whole, I'm obliged to think 
that everything is fixed up about right — I reckon it is. 



128 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



The Sounds on the Feont Plvzza. 

It was after midnight. About the time when deep 
rJeep falleth upon man, but not upon woman, for 
Mrs. Arp's ears are always awake, it seems to me. I 
felt a gentle dig in my side from an elbow and a whis- 
pered voice said; "William, William, don't you hear 
that?" ''What is it?" said I. "Somebody is in the 
front piazza," said she. "Don't you hear him rock- 
ing in the rocking chair?" And sure enough I did. 
The chair would rock awhile, and then stop, and then 
rock again. "Is the gun loaded?" said she; "they 
are robbers, but don 't shoot, don 't make a noise ; can 't 
you peep out of the window ? Mercy on us, what do 
they want to rob us for? Maybe they come to steal 
one of the children. Slip in the little room and see 
if Carl is in his bed. Don't stumble over a chair, 
maybe somebody is under the bed." The rocker took 
a new start and I had another dig in my side. "It is 
the wind, " said I. "No, it is not," said she. "There 
is no wind, the window is up, and the curtain don't 
move. They are robbers, I tell you. Hadn't you 
better give them some money and tell them to go?" 
"I havn't got any money," said I. "It's all gone." 
"Lord have mercy upon us," said she. "William, 
'"et your gun and be ready." 



Bill Arp. 129 

'I gently slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the win- 
dow and cautiously peeped out, and there was the 
pointer puppy sitting straight up in my wife's rock- 
ing chair, and ever and anon he would lean forward 
and backwards and put it in motion. I whispered to 
Mrs. Arp to come and see the four-legged robber, 
which she did, and in due time all was calm and 
serene. 

Last night there was another sensation in the back 
piazza, and it was sure enough feet this time, for they 
made a racket on the floor and moved around lively, 
and the elbow digs in my side came thick and fast; 
took me a minute to get fairly awake, and after listen- 
ing awhile I exclaimed in audible language, ''goats, 
Carl's goats," and I gathered a broom and mauled 
them down the back steps. "I told you, my dear," 
said I, "that those goats would give us trouble, but 
I can stand it if you can." 

Carl and Jessie have been begging for goats a good 
w^hile and I was hostile, very hostile to goats, for I 
knew how much devilment they would do; but the 
little chaps slipped up on the weak side of their moth- 
er, and she finally hinted that children were children ; 
that old folks had their dotage and children had their 
goatage and her little brothers used to have goats, 
and so the pair of goats were bought and Ealph 
worked two days making a wagon, and contrived some 
harness out of old bridle-reins and plow lines, and 
it took all hands to gear 'em up, and at the first crack 
of the whip they bounced three feet in the air, and 



130 Bill Arp. 

kept on bouncing, and jerked Carl a rod, and got 
loose and run away and turned the wagon up side 
down, and they kept on leaping and jumping until 
they got all the harness broken up and got away. It 
beat a monkey show. "We all laughed until we cried, 
but the little chaps have reorganized on a more sub- 
stantial basis, and there is another exhibition to come 
off soon. 

Mr. Shakespeare says that a man has seven ages, 
but to my opinion a boy has about ten of his own. 
He begins with his first pair of breeches and a stick 
horse, and climbs up by degrees to toy guns and fire 
crackers and sling shot and breaking calves and billy 
goats, and to sure enough guns and a pointer dog; 
and the looking glass age when he admires himself 
and greases his hair and feels of his downy beard; 
and then he joins a brass band and toots a horn ; and 
then he reads novels and falls in love and rides a 
prancing horse and writes perfumed notes to his girl. 
When his first love kicks him and begins to run with 
another fellow he drops into the age of despair, and 
wants to go to Texas or some other remote region, and 
sadly sings: 

''This world is all a fleeting show." 

Boys are mighty smart now-a-days. They know as 
much at ten years as we used to know at twenty, and 
it is right hard for us to keep ahead of 'em. Parents 
used to rule their children but children rule their 
parents now. There is no whipping at home, and if 
a boy gets a little at school it raises a row and a pre- 



Bill Arp. 131 

sentation to the grand jury. When my teacher 
whipped me I never mentioned it at home for fear of 
getting another. I got three whippings in one day 
when I was a lad ; I had a fight with another boy and 
he whipped me, and the school teacher whipped me 
for fighting, and my father whipped me because the 
teacher did. That was aw^fnl, wasent it? But it was 
right, and it did me good. One of these modern phi- 
lanthropies was telling my kinsman the other day 
how to raise his boy. ''Never whip him," said he. 
"Raise him on love and kindness and reason," and 
then he appealed to me for endorsement. ' ' And when 
that boy is about twelve years old," said I, "do you 
go and talk to him and if possible persuade him not 
to whip his daddy. Tell him that it is wrong and 
unfilial, and will injure his reputation in the commu- 
nity." 

The modern boy is entirely too bigity. I was at 
church in Rome last Sunday and saw two boys there, 
aged about ten and twelve years, and after service 
they lit their cigarettes and went off smoking. An 
old-fashioned man looked at 'em and remarked: "I 
would give a quarter to paddle them boys two min- 
utes. I '11 bet their fathers is afraid of 'em right now. ' ' 
The old-fashioned man never was afraid of his. He 
worked 'em hard, but he gave 'em all reascmable indul- 
gence. He kept 'em at home of nights, and he made 
good men of them. They have prospered in business 
and acquired wealth, and are raising their children 
the same way, and they love and honor the old gentle- 



132 Bill Arp. 

man for giving them habits of industry and economy. 
He was a merchant and didn't allow his boys to sweep 
ont a string or a scrap of paper as big as your hat. 
Habits are the thing, good habits, habits of industry 
and economy; when acquired in youth they stick all 
through life. 

And the girls need some watching too. They are 
most too fast now-a-days. Too fond of fashion, and 
they read too much trash. The old fashion retiring- 
modesty of character is at a discount. They don't 
wait for the boys to come now, they go after 'em; they 
marry in haste and repent at leisure ; they run round 
in their new^-fashioned night gowns and call it a 
Mother Hubbard party. The newspapers have got 
up a sensation about the arm clutch, ^he waist clutch 
in these round dances is just as bad or worse. They 
are all immodest and there is not a good mother in 
the land that approves of them. A girl who goes to a 
promiscuous ball and waltzes around with promis- 
cuous fellows puts herself in a promiscuous fix to be 
talked about by the dudes and rakes and fast young 
men who have encircled her waist. A girl should 
never waltz with a young man whom she would not 
be willing to marry. Slander is very common now, 
slander of young ladies, and there are not many who 
escape it; the trouble is it is not all slander, some of 
it is truth. In the olden times when folks got married 
they stayed married, but now the courts are full of 
divorces and the land is spotted with grass widows, 
and in many a household there is a hidden grief over 



Bill Arp. 133 

a daughter's shame. It is a good thing for the girls 
to work at something that is nseful. There is plenty 
of home work to do in most every household. If there 
is not then they can try drawing and sketching or 
painting or music, something that will entertain them. 
There are as many female dudes as males, and they 
ought to marry, I reckon, and go to raising fools for 
market. 

We have got a cook now and my folks are taking a 
rest. She is an old-fashioned darkey and flies around 
with a quick step and lightly. Anybody could tell 
that '^Sicily" had had good training from a white 
mistress. When she gets through her work she brings 
up a tub of water and goes to washing up the floors 
without being told; she washes the dishes clean and 
is nice about the milk and the churning, and is good 
to the children. She lets them cook a little and make 
boys and horses out of the biscuit dough. The like of 
that suits Mrs. Arp exactly. If I was a darkey I 
would know exactly how to get Mrs. Arp 's money and 
her old dresses and a heap of little things thrown in. 
Yesterday morning Sicily's husband knocked at the 
door very early and said his wife was sick, sick all 
night, and Mrs. Arp turned over and exclaimed, ' ' Oh 
my." I told him to go to the next room and tell the 
girls, and I heard 'em groan and say ''goodness gra- 
cious ; ' ' but they got up and gave us a first-class break- 
fast, and I praised 'em up lots. I promised to let 'em 
go to town and tumble up the new goods and bring 
back a big lot of samples. Girls should be encouraged 
when they do well. 



134 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



Mr. Arp Feels His Inadequacy. 

Sometimes a man feels entirely unadeqnate to the 
occasion. A kind of lonesome and helpless feeling 
comes over him that no philosophy can shake off. I 
diclent have but five sheep. They were fine and fat 
and followed us about when we walked down to the 
meadow, and our little shepherd dog thought they 
were the prettiest things in the world, and they would 
eat salt out of the children's hands, and we were 
thinking about the little lambs that would come in 
the spring. There was a house for them in the mead- 
ow and it was full of clean wheat straw where they 
could take shelter from the rain and the wind. 

Alas for human hopes. It looks like everything is 
born to trouble, especially sheep. Yesterday morning 
I walked down to the branch with my tender offspring, 
and before I was prepared for it the torn and bloody 
form of the old he ram was seen lying in the water 
before me. While I stood and pondered over this 
sad calamity, the children soon found the others 
scattered round in the mire and bullrushes stiff 
and cold and dead. I thought of Mrs. Arp, my wife. 
What would she say? I thought of that passage of 
Scripture which says ''beware of dogs." I thought 
of Joe Harris and the Constitution and that con- 



Bill Arp. 135 

founded legislature. I thought of guns and striknine 
and the avenger of blood. Slowly and sadly we re- 
turned to the house, and when the children had un- 
folded the mournful tale Mrs. Arp, my Avife, stopped 
washing the dishes and sat down by the fire. For 
awhile she never spoke. She seemed unadequate. 
There was a solemn stillness pervading the assembled 
family. The children looked at me and then at their 
mother, when suddenly says she, choking up, "The 
poor things; torn to pieces by the dogs right here in 
a few steps of the house. I heard Juno barking 
furiously in the piazza and I heard the cows lowing 
like something was after their calves, and I thought I 
would wake you, but I didn't. Poor things, if they 
had only blated or made a noise. After a solemn 
pause, she rose forward and exclaimed: "William 
Arp, if I was a man I would take my gun and never 
stop till I had killed every dog in the naborhood. A 
little while back they killed all our geese in that same 
meadow. These trifling people round here hunt rab- 
bits all over your plantation with the sheep killing 
dogs, and you won't stop 'em for fear of hurtin their 
feelings, and now you see what we get by it. I'd go 
and shoot their dogs in their own yards, and if they 
made a fuss about it I would — well, I don't know 
what I wouldn 't do. ' ' 

"If I knew the dogs that did it — " said I, meekly. 

' ' Knew the dogs ! ' ' said she. ' ' Why you know that 
big brindle that got hung by his block down there in 
the willows, and you ought to have killed him then, 



136 Bill Arp. 

and you know that white dog, and the spotted one that 
prowls around, and those dogs that them boys are 
always hunting with — you can kill them anyhow. We 
will never have anything if you don't protect your- 
self, and the Lord knows we 've got little enough now. ' ' 

''They will come back to-night," said I, and shore 
enough they did, and the boys laid in wait for 'em and 
got some revenge, and we've given the naborhood fair 
warning that henceforth we will kill every dog that 
puts his foot on our premises, law or no law, gospel 
or no gospel. We've declared war. A dog that won't 
stay at home at night ain't fit to be a dog. The next 
man who runs for the legislature in this county has 
got to commit himself against dogs or I'll run against 
him whether the people vote for me or not, and if he 
beats me I reckon I can move out of the county, can't 
I, or quit trying to raise sheep. My nabor, Mr. Dob- 
bins, says they have killed over a hundred for him in 
the last two years and he has quit. He won't try to 
raise any more. 

But we are reviving a little. The ragged edge of 
our indignation has worn off. We skinned the poor 
things and the buzzards have preyed upon their car- 
casses, and once more our family affairs are moving 
along in subdued serenity. Last night Mrs. Arp, my 
wife, told the girls she didn't think their lightbread 
was quite as light and nice as she used to make it, and 
she would show them her way, so they could take pat- 
tern. She fixed up the yeast and made up the dough 
and put it down by the fire to rise, and this morning 



Bill Arp. 137 

it had riz about a quarter of an inch, which she re- 
marked was very curious, but recokened it was too 
cold, and so she put it in the oven to bake and then it 
got sullen and riz downwards, and by the time it was 
done it was about as thick as a ginger cake, and 
weighed nigh unto a pound to the square inch. She 
never said anything, but hid it away on the top shelf 
of the cupboard. I saw the girls blinking around, and 
when lunch time came I got it down and carried it 
along like it was a keg of nails and put it before her. 
"I thought you would like some lightbread, " said I. 
She laid down her knife and fork, and for a mo- 
ment was altogether unadequate to the occasion. Sud- 
denly she seized the stubborn loaf, and as I ran out of 
the door it took me right in the small of my back, and 
I actually thought somebody had struck me on the 
spine with a maul. ' ' Now, Mr. Impudence, take that, ' ' 
said she. " If a man asks for bread will you give him 
a stone ? ' ' said I. Seeing that hostilities were about to 
be renewed, I retired prematurely to the piazza to 
ruminate on the rise of cotton and wheat, and iron, 
and everything else but bread. She's got two little 
grandsons staying v/ith her, and unbeknowing to me 
she hacked that bread into chunks and armed five 
little chaps with 'em, and she came forth as captain 
of the gang and suddenly they took me unawares in 
a riotus and tumultuous manner. They banged me up 
awfully before I could get out of the way. My head 
is sore all over, and take it all in all, I consider myself 
the injured person. I mention this circumstance as a 



138 Bill Arp. 

warnin' to let all things alone when your wife hides 
'em, especially bread that woiildent rise. Mrs. Arp, 
my wife, has most wonderful control of these little 
chaps — children and grand-children. She can sick 
'em onto me with a nod or a wink, but I can't sick 
'em onto her; no, sir. I never tried, and I don't 
reckon I ever will, but I just know I couldn't. I don't 
have much of a showing with these children. This 
morning I found one of 'em climbin' up on the sash 
of the flower pit, and while I was hunting for a switch 
the little rascal ran to his grandma, and that was the 
end of it. She never said nothing, but sorter paused 
and looked at me. My only chance is to get 'em away 
off in the field or the woods and thrash 'em generally 
for a month's rascality, and then honey them up just 
before we get home to keep 'em from telling on me. 
For thirty years Mrs. Arp, my wife, has labored 
under the delusion that the children are hers, and 
that I had mighty little to do with 'em from the begin- 
ning. I w^ould like to see somebody try to take 'em 
away with a habeas corpus or any other corpus. Good- 
ness gracious! Talk about a lioness robbed of her 
whelps or a she bear of her cubs. Well, it couldn't be 
done, that's all. 



Bill Arp. 139 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



Uncle Bart. 



Old Uncle Bart, as we call him, wasn't a common 
drunkard nor an uncommon one either, but every 
time he came to town he would get drunk. He came 
mighty seldom, for when he did the memory of it 
lasted him about three months. He told me after 
such a spree he felt as mean and lonely as a stray 
dog. He said he couldn't eat nor sleep, and away in 
the night wanted water so bad he "felt like he could 
bite a branch in two and swallow the upper end. ' ' 

One morning he came in early to see Dolph Ross, 
who was going to Texas. He came across him before 
he came across the grocery, and says he: "Hallo, 
Dolph — gwine to Texas?" 

"Yes, Uncle Bart, I am." 

"Well, my brother Ben lives over there, and he's 
got big rich, and no family, and I thought if you'd 
see him and tell him how sorry we was gettin' along 
he mout do something for us. You see my wheat crop 
is likely to fail, for the back-water from the spring 
freshet got over it, and it's all turned yaller, and my 
corn looks sickly, and my best cow got snake-bit last 
week and died, and the old lady is powerful puny, and 
Sal she got to hankerin' arter a likely chap in the 



140 Bill Arp. 

naborhood and married him, and he ain't got nothin', 
and I'm gettin' oki and can't stand nigh as much as 
I used to, and I want you to see Brother Ben, and 
maybe he'll do somethin' — you see?" 

' ' Yes, I see. Uncle Bart, but where does your brother 
Ben live?" 

"Live? Why, he lives in Texas, I told ye! If you 
don't meet him in the road you can send him some 
word by somebody and he '11 find you. He 's over there 
shore. ' ' 

In about an hour he met Dolph again, and slapping 
his foot down limberly, he seized Dolph 's hand with 
a loving grip, and says he, "Hello, Dolph — gwine to 
Texas?" 

"Yes, Uncle Bart." 

"Will you tell Brother Ben that we are all doin' 
tol 'able ; the crop looks 'bout as good as common, and 
the old 'oman's sweet and sassy as ever, and Sal, she's 
married and done splendid. Good by, Dolph, God 
bless you, I love you." 

In about two more drinks, from that time. Uncle 
Bart come weavin' along, and, says he, "Hello, Dolph, 
gwine to Texas? — tell Brother Br en I've got — the 
brest crop in the — State — to let me Ivnow how he's 
golonging along — if he wants anj^thing — he shall — 
s'havit — he shan't — ^lie shan't — she shan't suffer — as 
long as — as I've got nothin' — I can send him — twen 
or twelve-teen dollars — any time — farewell, Dolph." 

About the close of the day Dolph found him on the 



Bill Arp. 141 

lowermost step of the grocery, his head on his knees 
and his hat on the ground. Thinking it a poor place 
to spend the night, he aroused him to a glimmering 
view of the situation. 

* ' Hello — Roff Doss, ' ' says he, ' ' gwine to — Texas ? — 
tell Brother Ben — hell's afloat and ike river's 
a-risin\" (Hie.) 



142 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



CoBE Talks a Little. 

''Everything is adopted." Says I, "Cobe, you 
musent say adopted, for you mean adapted. " ' ' Well, 
I reckon so," says he. ''Everything is adapted. 
Everything fits to everything. There is that houn' 
dog a-runnin' that rabbit and the dog is adopted to 
the rabbit and the rabbit is adopted to the dog. One 
was made for the tother to run. If there wasent any 
rabbits there wouldent be any houn' dogs. Boys is 
adopted to squirrels. If there wasent any boys there 
wouldent be any squirrels. If there wasent any chick- 
ens there wouldent be any hawks, for hawks is adopt- 
ed to chickens, and if there wasent any chickens and 
birds there wouldent be any bugs and worms ; and the 
bugs and worms is adopted to the leaves and vege- 
tables, and there is always enough left of everything 
for seed and for white folks to live on. Hogs is 
adopted to acorns, and if there wasent any hogs there 
wouldent be more than eight or ten acorns on a tree 
— just enough for seed ; and hogs is adopted to folks, 
and if there wasent any folks there wouldent be any 
hogs. There wouldent be any use for 'em. I'll tell 
you, major, everything was fixed up about right, as 
shore as you're born, and most everything was fixed 
up for us. Hogs has got sausage meat and tripe and 



BiLT. Arp. 143 

cracklinR, and rourg and backbone and sparerib and 
lard and ham and slionlder and jowl to eat with tur- 
nip greens, and it's all mighty good and its all adopt- 
ed." 

^'That is all so, Cobe," said I; '' everything is 
adapted, whether it is adopted or not." 

"Yes," said he, "and I've noticed it for a long 
time, when the wheat is cut off the land the grass 
comes up for hay, and if we cut it off another crop 
comes up and keeps the hot sun off the land, and 
one crop follows another, and if v^^e make a poor crop 
one year we make a better one the next year, and if 
we don't we can live on hope and cut down expenses 
and work the harder to fix up, and seme how or other 
or somehow else we all get along, and when there is 
a gap we fill it up with something, and we all get 
along and nobody perishes to death in the name of 
the Lord, for everything fits and everything is 
adopted." 

"Well," says I, "Cobe, that is all so — not only so, 
but also, but there are a heap of things come along 
that don't seem to be adopted, as you call it. Here 
comes the army worm, and the grasshoppers, and the 
caterpillars, and all sorts of vermin, and they are not 
adapted, and what are we going to do with them? 
What are you going to do with snakes, mad dogs, 
and storms, and pestilence, and diphtheria, and small- 
pox, and all such afflictions? Are they adopted, or 
are they adapted, or what are they?" 

"Well, sir," says Cobe, "I'll tell you. I haven't 



144 Bill Arp. 

been troubled with tliem things yet, but if I was I 
know there would be some offset, something; to bal- 
ance the account. I never knowed a man to have a 
bi^ trouble but what there was something to balance 
off the trouble. I never knowed a man to go to Texas 
but what he writ back that there wasn't anything 
to brag off after he got there. The good things of 
this life are pretty equally distributed if we only did 
know it. A rich man haint got much advantage of 
a poor man if the poor man is any account. Some 
poor folks is bad stock and don't want to work and 
goes about grumbling. They is just like a bad stock 
of horses or cattle or dogs and ought to die out, 
and quit the country. We don't send round the set- 
tlement to git a poor dog or a poor cat, or a ptjor 
hog or a poor cow. We want a good stock of any- 
thing ; and there is about the same difference in folks 
that there is in anything else. There are some rich 
folks that are clever and some that are mean — some 
grind you down and some help you up, but them who 
grind you down don't have much enjoyment. They 
are never happy unless they are miserable. I'd rather 
be poor than to be some rich men that I know. My 
children have a better time eating simmons and black 
haws and digging gubbers and hunting possums than 
their children do in getting to parties and wearing 
fine clothes and fussing with one another and doing 
nothing for a living. There is nothing like work- 
working for a living and being contented with your 
situation. I love to see rich folks doing well, for they 
help out the country and build railroads, and fac- 



Bill Arp. 145 

tories, and ear shops, and open up the iron mines, and 
I know that if everybody was as poor as I am the 
country wonldent prosper, and it looks like every 
thing was adopted, and we need rich folks to plan 
and poor folks to work, and they couldent get along 
without us any more than we could get along without 
them. I don't want their fine clothes, nor their fine 
house, nor their carriage and horses, and they don't 
want my little old mule, nor my bobtail coat, and so 
it's all right all round, and everything is adopted. It 
don't take me but a minute and a half to get ready 
to go to meetin', for all I've got to do is to put on 
my coat and comb the cuckleburs outen my hair and 
wash my face and git a couple of chaws of tobacco 
and take my foot in my hand and go. I can squat 
down at the door when I git there, and hear all the 
preachers has got to say, and thank the Lord for his 
goodness, and that is worship enough for a poor man, 
I reckon, and it's all adopted. When I see fine things 
and fine people I'm always thankful for some favors 
that are pow'ful cheap considering that money runs 
the world, for we have got good health and good ap- 
petites at my house and can sleep well on a hard bed, 
and a drink of spring water is the best thing in the 
world to a hungry man. We haint got no dishpepsy 
nor heart burn, and nobody haint suing me for my 
land, for I haint got any, and my wife can make as 
good corn bread as anybody, and our tables is a good 
kind, and the old cow lets down her milk about right 
and can live and do well without being curried and 

(6) 



146 Bill Arp. 

fed lip like a Jersey, and she understands my chil- 
dren and they understand her, and so it looks like 
everything is adopted. I was thinking the other day 
how much service this old coat Mrs. Arp gave me has 
done, for if it had been a new one I would have been 
afeered of it, but I've wore it now for six months, 
and its good yet, and the children have wore the old 
clothes she give them, and they are all adopted, and 
now, major, if you have got a chaw or two of that 
good tobacco you always have I want a bite or two, 
for that is one thing I like better than poor folks' 
tobaccer. Its one thing that I think is a leetel better 
adopted than anything else. At least I like it better." 
Cobe got his tobacco and flanked his little mule 
with his heelless shoes and galloped away in peace. 
If he is not adapted, I know he feels adopted. Cobe 
has peculiar ideas and a peculiar language. He al- 
ways said that thunder killed a man, and vfhen I told 
him it was lightning he said, "Well, I know they 
say it is lightning, but I've always noticed that when 
it strikes a tree or a man or a mule the thunder and 
the lightning comes all in a bunch, and you can't 
tell tother from which." ''But, Cobe," says I, 
''v/hen a gun shoots, the noise don't hurt anything; 
it is the shot." "Just so," says he, "but there is 
no shot about this thunder business." 



Bill Arp. 147 



CHAPTER XX. 



The Ups and Downs op Farming. 

I never could write like a school-master, and now 
my fingers are all in a twist and I am as nervous as 
a woman with the neuralgia. Me and my hopeful 
set out yesterday morning to cut an acre of second- 
crop clover, for these lazy niggers round here wanted 
a dollar a day and board, and I wouldn't give it, 
and so me and him undertook the job for our vittles 
alone, and he had a good mowing-blade and I rigged 
up an old scythe that belonged to a wheat-cradle, and 
it was about six feet long and took a sweep accordin', 
and the clover was rank and mixed up with morning 
glories, and for the first ten minutes it looked like 
we w^ould just walk through it like one of McCor- 
mick 's reapers ; but you see, that kind of work brought 
into play a new set of nerves and muscles that hadent 
been used in a long time, for mowin' clover with n 
long blade is an irregular, side-wipin' business that 
swings a man in all sorts of horizontal attitudes, for 
sometimes he don't put on enough power for the reach 
of his blade, and then again he puts on a little too 
much, and it comes round with a jerk that twists him 
up like a corkscrew, and so the first thing I knew T 
was blowin' worse than a tired steer and my shirt 
stuck to me and my heart was beating like a muffled 



148 Bill Arp. 

drum, and I rather look back at what I had cut than 
ahead of me what I hadn't. But I was too proud to 
surrender, for, though I say it myself, there's grit in 
me, and ever and anon it shows itself, under peculiar 
circumstances. I heaved ahead of my boy with my 
long-sweep in ' simiter, that give me time to stop and 
git my wind and wait for my palpitatin' bosom to 
quit thump in', and then I would rally my wastin' 
forces and go it again until I couldent go it any lon- 
ger. My boy was as willing to quit as I w^as, for the 
sun was hot and the air was close, and, I say now after 
due reflection, it was the hardest morning's work I 
ever did, and I'm not for hire to repeat it at a dollar 
a day or any other insignificant reward, for it has 
twisted me out of all decent shape and I go about 
hump-shouldered and sway-backed and as sore all 
over as if I had been beat with a thrash-pole. I don't 
think I would have made such a fool of myself, but 
you see some of my wife's relations had come a long 
ways to see us and all the family paraded over to the 
clover field like a general and his staff, and as they 
stood around I put on as much style as possible in 
swingin' my blade and could hear 'em admiring us 
how gracefully and easily we handled the instruments, 
when the truth was we had mighty nigh mowed our- 
selves to death and saved the king of terrors the job. 
What a power of influence these female smiles do 
have upon us. What undertaking is there that we 
will not undertake if they will stand by and look on 
and encourage. Why sir, I have thought in moments 



Bill Arp. 149 

of enthusiasm that if my wife, Mrs. Arp, was to un- 
fold her angelic wings and soar away to Chimborazoes 
top, and call me with a heavenly smile, I'd go too if 
I could. I wish they were all rich, for these two 
traits about women have always struck me. They can 
live on less when they are obliged to, and make a 
little go a heap further than the men, but when 
money is handy they can spend more and take more 
satisfaction in gettin' rid of it than anybody. 

I read the other day in a farming paper that moles 
dident do any harm, but on the contrary they did 
good in eating up bugs and worms ; well, I caught one 
on the first day of this month, a nice, slick, fat fel- 
low; and as my folks had been making an April fool 
of me all day, I just emptied the sugar bowl and 
shut the sweet little innocent up in there. Mrs. Arp 
is a dignified woman, especially at the table. She 
tak*es her seat the last of all and after grace she ar- 
ranges the cups in the saucers, and the next thing 
is to put in the sugar and cream and give it a little 
stir with a spoon. Mrs. Arp is afraid of rats, and 
so when she stretched forth her sweet little hand and 
removed the sugar dish top the varmint rose suddenly 
to a perpendicular position, and stuck his red snout 
just above the top edge. She saw him — I know she 
did from the way she done. Anticipating a catas- 
trophy, I had slipped around to the rear and reached 
her just in time to receive her into my affectionate 
arms as she was reaching backward in a riotous and 
tumultuous manner. Shutting up the animal again, 



150 Bill Arp. 

I departed those coasts, and it took me two days to 
mole-ify her lacerated feelings and make things calm 
and serene. The next morning I turned him loose 
in the garden, and before night he had run his under- 
ground railroad right under a row of peas that was 
about ten inches high, and cut the peas from the seed, 
and the tops was lying flat and wilted, like a cabbage 
plant when the cut worms find it. 

Farmin' is a good deal like fishin'. Every time 
you start out you can just see yourself catchin' 'em; 
but after tryin' every hole in the creek you go home 
sorrowfully, with a fisherman's luck. But we are not 
complainin' by no means, for we've got wheat enuf 
for biskit every day and light-bread on Sunday, and 
a few bushels to spare for them angels that's to come 
along unawares sum of these days. We finished cut- 
tin' the oat crop this mornin', and what with them 
and the clover already housed, the cattle are safe "for 
another year. I imagine they look sassy and thank- 
ful ; but as for me, I am a used up individual. Durin ' 
harvest I have had to be a binder, and if you don't 
know what that is, ask Harris. The ends of these 
fingers which are now inscribin' this epistle are in a 
bad fix. Skarified and done up v/ith bull nettles and 
briars, they are as sore as a school-boy's bile. There 
was sum variation to my business, such as catchin' 
young rabbits, and findin' partridge nests, and pick- 
in ' dewberries ; but the romance wore off the first day, 
and by the end of the next my wife says I was as 
humble a man as any woman could desire. It's a 



Bill Arp, 151 

mighty purty thing to write about and make np oacls 
and ponies. The golden grain, the. manly reapers, the 
strutten' sheaves, the song of the harvesters, and pnrty 
Miss Ruth eoquettin' around the fields of old man 
Boaz, and "how jokin' did they drive their team 
afield," is all so sweet and nice to a man np a tree 
with an umbrel, but if them poets had to tie wheat 
half a day in a June sun, their sentimentality would 
henceforth seek another subjek. I tried swingin' the 
cradle awhile, but somehow or somehow else, I couldn't 
exactly get the lick. It wasent the kind of a cradle 
I've been used to, and I am too old a dog to learn 
new tricks now. 

The branches are getting low. The corn is curling 
in the blades. The mills grind a little in the morning 
and then wait for the pond to fill. The locust is 
singin' a parchin' tune. Summer flies keeps the 
cows' tails busy, and all nature gives sign of a 
comin' drouth. I don't like this, but am tryin' to 
be resigned. Before I turned farmer such weather 
dident concern me much if I could find a cool retreat, 
but now I realize how dependent is mankind upon the 
farm, and the farmer upon Providence. The truth is, 
its a precarious business all around, and I sometimes 
catch myself a wishin' I was rich or had a sorter 
side-show to my circus. 

A sorry farmer on a sorry farm is a sorry spectacle. 
A good farmer on poor land and a poor farmer on 
good land are purty well balanced, and can scratch 
along if the seasons hit; but I reckon a smart and 



152 Bill Arp. 

diligent man with good hands to back him is about 
as secure against the shiftin' perils of this life as 
anybody can be ; and then if a man could have besides 
a few thousand dollars invested in stocks and draw 
the intrust twice a year he ought to be as happy as 
subloonary things can make him. Then, you see, he 
could send off his children to school, and visit his 
kin, and keep a cook and a top buggy, and lay in 
some chancy ware and a carpet for the old 'oman, 
and new bonnets and red ear-rings for the girls, and 
have a little missionary money left. If the drouth or 
the army worm or the caterpillar comes along he 
would have something to fall back on and make him 
always feel calm and screen. I think I would like 
that — wouldent you? — and I reckon there ain't no 
harm in prayin' for it as Agur did when he said, 
''Give me neither poverty or riches." Most every 
aspirin' man I know of in the towns and cities is 
lookin' forward to this blessed state. They work and 
toil and twist, and dodge in and dodge out, and do 
a thousand little things they are , sorter ashamed of, 
with a view at the last of settling down on some good 
farm with creeks and springs and meadows and mills 
and fine cattle, and windin' up a perplexin' life in 
peace with mankind and communion with honest na- 
ture. No ambitious man becomes lost to such pleas- 
ant hopes as these, and the more trouble he has the 
more he longs for it, for it's about the fittenest way 
I know of to get time to repent and make preparation 
for shuffling off this mortal coil. But to all such the 



Bill Arp. 153 

outside investment is highly necessary. Even Beecher 
could not get along without it — for there are a thous- 
and little leaks in farmin' that a man without experi- 
ence can't stop, and without capital can't remedy. 
Why, only this mornin' one of my boys was driving 
across a bridge and the mule Joe got skeered at his 
shadder and shoved Tom over on the hand rail and 
it broke, and he fell in the creek and dragged Joe 
with him, and the wagon, too, and broke the tongue 
all to pieces, and the houns and the haims and the 
harness and the driver, and both the mules set in to 
kickin' with the front end of the wagon on top of 
'em, and the hind end up on the bridge, and you 
could have heard the racket for two miles without a 
telefone; and the girls ran and screamed, and Mrs. 
Arp liked to have fainted every step of the way, for 
she said she knew Paul was killed as he fell, and 
kicked to death by the mules and drowned afterwards, 
and it took two hours to clear the wreck and restore 
the wounded and passify the women and get every- 
thing once more calm and screen. Now, you see, 
there's some unforseen damages to pay and nobody to 
pay 'em, and all we can do is to charge it up to the 
mule. I do think that we farmers ought to have 
some protection agin the like of this, and I want to 
introduce a bill the next session, for they've been pro- 
tecting manufacturers for seventy-five years and neg- 
lectin' agriculture, which is the very subsill of a 
nation's prosperity. I wonder if our law-makers who 



154 Bill Arp. 

can save a State couldn't fix up an arrangement that 
would give everybody a good price for what they had 
to sell, and put everything down lov/ what we had to 
buy, and then abolish taxes and work the roads with 
the chain-gang, and let the bell-punch run the govern- 
ment. Such a law would give universal satisfaction 
and immortalize its author. 



Bill Arp. 155 



CHAPTER XXI 



The Family Preparing to Receive City Cousins. 

It's a tlirillin' time when a country family have 
invited their city cousins to visit 'em, and are fixin' 
up to receive 'em in a hospitable manner. 

The scouring' mop and the floor-cloth and an old 
jar of lie soap and a pan full of sand are not very 
elegant things to handle, but they are useful and 
can't be abolished with decency. 

Everything around and about our premises is 
mighty clean and nice now. I wish it would stay 
so. I don't care so much about it myself, but it 
harmonizes with Mrs. Arp and the girls and the Scrip- 
tures. I'm afraid I'm a little heathenish about such 
things, for I don't like to live under such constraint 
— to have to scrape my shoes so much and shut the 
doors and hang up my hat and empty the wash-bowl. 
I don't like to see the ashes taken up quite so clean 
and so often and so much sv/eeping and scrubbing. 
I don't think the broom ought to be set in the corner 
upside down nor the clean towel hid in the washstand 
where me and the little boys can't find it. I think 
I would like a room somewhere close about where me 
and the children could do as we please and enjoy a 
little dirt on the floor and throw the saw and the 
hammer and a few nails around and kick off our 



156 Bill Arp. 

muddy shoes and mould bullets and pop corn and 
play horse and m-arbles and tumble up the bed and 
do as we please and clean up things about once a 
month. But there's no room to spare, and so I have 
to endeavor to live like a gentleman whether I want 
to or not. I've got an idea that a little clean dirt 
is healthy. I'm afraid that little tender children are 
washed and bathed too much. They get puny and 
pale and delicate. Poor little things. It's very dis- 
agreeable to 'em. I never saw one that liked it, and 
that's pretty good evidence it's not accordin' to na- 
ture. Once a week is very reasonable, but this every 
night's business is a sin. They say it keeps the pores 
open, but maybe they oughtent to be kept open all 
the time. The surgeons say that a handful of fresh 
earth bound on a flesh wound or a bruise will cure 
it up, and I've found out that the best cure for 
scratches in horses' feet is walking in fresh plowed 
ground. I never saw a healthy child that didn't love 
to play in the dirt, and the sand, and make frog 
houses and mud pies. But still I don't go to ex- 
tremes. I don't want 'em to get so dirty their skin 
hasn't got any pores at all and their little ears would 
sprout turnip seed. Everything must be done in 
reason and in season. There's some things I am 
mighty particular about — such as clean dishes and 
butter and milk and sausage-meat. I saw a woman 
milking the other day, and she pulled the calf away 
by the calf's tail and then wiped off the cow's tits 



Bill Arp. 157 

with the cow's tail and went to milking. I thought 
there was too little water and too much tail in that. 

But to return to the preparations for the reception. 
The girls took matters in charge, and for several days 
the exciting episode went on. It was like clearing the 
deck of a man-of-war for a fight. The house has been 
scoured and scrubbed and sand-papered. Everything 
in it has been taken down and put up again, and 
moved to a new place, and I can't find anything now 
when I want it. The old faded carpets have been 
taken up and patched all over, and curtailed and put 
down again. They get smaller and smaller, which 
they say is a good way to wear 'em out without taking 
cold. The furniture has been freshly varnished with 
kerosene oil; the window glass washed on both sides, 
and the knives and forks, water buckets, wash pans, 
and shovel and tongs brightened up. The hearths 
have been painted a Spanish brown, the soiled plaster- 
ing whitewashed, the family portraits dusted, and the 
pewter teapot and plated castors and spoons and nap- 
kin rings polished as fine as a jewelry store. 

I surveyed the operations from day to day with 
affectionate interest, for it does me good to see young 
people work diligently in a meritorious cause; never- 
theless my routine of daily life appears to be some- 
what demoralized. On the first day our humble din- 
ner was dispensed with and me and the boys invited 
to lunch on bread and sorghum at a side table. The 
next day we were allowed to lunch in the back piazzer, 
for fear we would mess up the dining room, and the 



158 Bill Arp. 

next we were confined to the water-shed to keep us 
from messing up the piazzer, and after that I meekly 
prepared myself to be shoved out doors on a plank, 
but we wasn't. Mrs. Arp lectures me every day on 
manners and she don't confhie her lectures to my 
private ear. The last time we had turkey we had 
company, and when I asked a lady if she would have 
some of this fowl, my wife, Mrs. Arp, she looked at 
me indignantly, and said: ''William, that is not 
fowl — it is turkey." When I asked the lady if she 
would have some of the stuffing, Mrs. Arp, my wife, 
observed sarcastically, "Of course she will have some 
of the ' dressing. ' ' ' You see, I thought that dressing 
was generally worn outside, but it seems that a turkey 
is not dressed until it is undressed. Well, she over- 
looked me when the pie was sent around; she over- 
looks me a great deal, and when I ventured to remind 
her that I would take some of the dessert, she said 
she didn't have any Sahara, but maybe a desert of 
mince pie would do just as well. We took tea at a 
nabor's once, and when a servant handed me a little 
glass dish of peaches in a waiter, I thought the whole 
concern was for me and set it down by my plate. 
But my wife, Mrs. Arp, she watches me pretty close 
and whispered to me to take some of the preserves 
if I wanted any, as the servant was waiting for the 
dish. So after av/hile I was handed a saucer of 
canned peaches, and when I took one out and put it 
on my plate, my wife, Mrs. Arp, kindly requested me 
to eat out of the saucer. She has never got recon- 



Bill Arp. 159 

ciled to the way I imbibe my coffee, for you see I was 
raised to pour it out in the saucer, and when I try 
to take it from the cup it burns me so I have to give 
it up. Some folks will endure a heap for style, but 
I am too old to begin it now. I think I do pretty 
well considering all things and deserve credit. 

Delicate hints have been given that it ain't polite 
to set down to dinner with one's coat off, or eat hom- 
iny with a knife, or smoke in the parlor. The wash 
bowl has been turned upside down to keep us from 
using it. With this side up it holds about a pint and 
a half, and as T was washing my face with the tips 
of my fingers they surveyed me with a look of unut- 
terable despair. When I raise my workin' boots on 
the banister rail for an evening rest they wipe it off 
with a wet rag as soon as I leave. I mustn't step 
on the purty red hearth to make a fire or put a back 
log on that weighs fifty pounds. They've put pillows 
on my bed about half as big as a bale of cotton and 
fringed all round like a petticoat. They are to stay 
on in day time and be taken off at night. When I'm 
tired and feel the need of a midday nap that bed was 
a comfort, but the best I can do now is to sit up in 
my chair and nod. The dogs don't understand the 
new system at all. Old Bows has been coming in the 
house to the fire or lying in the piazza for fourteen 
years, and it does seem impossible to break him of 
it in a sudden though dogmatic manner. Broom- 
handles and fishing-poles move 'em out at one door, 
but they slip in at another. 



160 Bill Arp. 

I think the best thing I can do is to vamoose the 
ranch and take the dogs and cats and children with 
me. We can sleep on the hay in the loft and eat 
peas and drink water and swell to keep from starv- 
in'. Maybe Mrs. Arp and the girls will take pity 
on us then and let us come back to the old regula- 
tions. When the cousins come all will be well. I 
wish they were here now. 



Bill Arp. 161 



CHAPTER XXII. 



Bad Luck in the Family. 

It's bad luck now at our house. One of those pe- 
culiar spells when everything goes wrong and nobody 
to blame for it. Saw the new moon through a brush, 
I reckon. On Monday, two of my pigs, just littered, 
got drowned in the branch; Tuesday my shoats got 
into my potato patch ; Wednesday a nigger was found 
struttin' around town with my equestrian walking 
cane, which was a present, and which I dident know 
was lost, and yesterday mornin', while Mrs. Arp was 
away, I thought it was a good time to cut little Jessie 's 
hair off, for it was continually gittin' down over her 
eyes like any other country gal's, and so I shingled 
it all over after a fashion of my own, and when her 
mother came home I dident know at first but what 
she had took the highsterics, but I soon found out bet- 
ter without much assistance, if any, and all that day 
I had right smart business away from the house. I 
gently suggested that it was all owin' to the way she 
looked at the moon, but that dident screen anything, 
for you see she was countin' on showin' off the child 
at the fair, and now she can't. I am hopeful, how- 
ever, that when the ambrosial locks grow out again 
our conjugal life will once more be calm and screen. 
Husbands ! fathers ! martyrs to wedded bliss, don 't cut 
your little girl 's hair off without permission — don 't. 



162 Bill Arp. 

It looks like my bad luck comes all in a bunch. 
You see, I had dug a flower pit and rigged it up with 
shelves and put glass windows in the top of it, and 
Mrs. Arp and the girls had managed one way and 
another to fill it with geraniums and all sorts of pretty 
things, and some of them were in bloom and every- 
thing growing so nice and smelt so sweet and the 
women folks were proud of 'em and nursed them and 
watered them and showed them to everybody; but 
yesterday they discovered some little varmints, about 
as big as a knat, were gathering on the leaves and 
doing damage, and when they told me about it, I 
didn't say nothing, but I thought I knew what would 
kill 'em, for I had tried it in the hen house, and it 
worked like a charm. So I got some sulphur and put 
it in an old pan and set it afire and shut down the 
sash. Well, I've killed all the bugs, that's a fact, 
and the misery of it is I have killed most everything 
else. I'm not going to enlarge upon the melancholy 
consequences, but will just say I wish my folks would 
put on mourning and be done with it. I can't stand 
this sort of resigned sadness that's hovering over us 
much longer. If they would tear around and cut up 
awhile and quit, I wouldent mind it, but this drooping 
way they've got of going to the flower-pit like it was 
a graveyard is just a killin me. They don't say noth- 
ing, so I have been reading history for consolation. 

Old Bows is dead, my loving and trusty friend, 
the defender of my children, the protector of my 
liousehold in the dark and silent watches of the night. 



Bill Arp. 163 

For thirteen years he has been both fond and faith- 
ful, and now we feel like one of the family is dead. 
Bows was the best judge of human nature I ever saw. 
He knew an honest man and a gentleman by instinct. 
He never frightened a woman or a child — he never 
went tearing down the front walk after anybody, but 
the very looks of him would mighty nigh scare a 
nigger to death. When they had to come to our 
house they begun to holler "hello" a quarter of a 
mile off. Bows loved to skeer 'em, he did. He had 
character and emotions. Having no tail to wag (for 
he was not cur-tailed) he did the best that he could 
and wagged where it ought to be. Bows was a dark 
brindle. He was a dog of ancestors. His father was 
named Shy lock, and his grand-father's name was 
Sheriff. They were all honorable dogs. He was not 
quarrelsome or fussy. I never knew him to run up 
and down a nabor's pailings after the dog on the 
other side. He was above it — but he never dodged 
a responsibility. He has come in violent personal 
contact with other dogs a thousand times, more or less, 
and was never the bottom dog in the fight. And then 
what an honest voice he had. His bark was not on 
the C, but it was a deep, short basso profundo. We 
have buried him on the brow of the hill where he used 
to sit and watch for tramps and stragglers. Slowly 
and sadly we laid him down. Talk about your sheep 
— I wouldn't have given him for a whole flock. Sheep 
are to eat and wear, but Bows was a friend. It's like 
comparing appetite with emotion — the animal with 



164 Bill Arp. 

the spiritual. But I am done now. Let Harris press 
on his dog law. I've got nothin' agin sheep — in fact, 
I like 'em. Ever since Mary had a little lamb I've 
thought kindly of sheep, and I am perfectly willin' 
to a law that will exterminate all houns and suck-egg 
pups and yaller dogs and bench-leg fices. They are 
a reflection on Bowses memory. 

Yesterday morning about the broke of day a big 
clap of thunder come along and shook a month's rain 
out of the clouds in half an hour. My old friend 
Peckerwood says he's lived here thirty-five years and 
never seed the like before. It dident rain nor pour, 
but just come down in horizontal sheets, and the little 
branches turned into creeks, and the creeks into riv- 
ers and they swelled out of their channels and all over 
the bottom land, and tore down fences and bridges 
and water-gates and carried off rails and planks and 
watermelons and punkins, and the low ground corn 
ain 't nigh as high as it was, and there 's a dozen places 
in the farm where my nabor's hogs can walk into my 
fields and help themselves if they want to, and they 
always want to, you know, for I never saw a gate 
open or the bars down that there wasent an educated 
hog in sight somewhere. I reckon a hundred people 
have told me I had the well-wateredest farm in the 
county, and now I believe it; but if you know of a 
man who has got one that ain't quite so well-watered, 
and is a mile or two high, and not subject to the ava- 
lanch, and I keep in my present humor, please send 
him along and I'll swap. 



Bill Arp. 165 

Everywhere that a fence crossed a slew or a branch 
it's washed away for a dozen panels, and the big long 
logs that swung the water gates are gone, and the 
plank fences on both sides of the big road are gone, 
and now it takes all the hands and the dogs to keep 
the nabor's hogs back while we are repairin' dam- 
ages, and reminds me of the time we used to guard 
the road to keep the small-pox from comin' to town. 

The meandering swine whose fourfathers ran down 
into the sea have been persuin' the pasture, and now 
its open to the tater patch, and so we've had to pen 
up everything in the barn-yard together, and the old 
sow has been samplin' the young chickens, and the 
Governor (that's our man cow) tried to horn General 
Gordon, the finest colt perhaps you ever laid your 
eyes on; and this morning as I was a moving' about 
with alacrity, Mrs. Arp told me the flour was out 
and I told her to run us on shorts, and she said the 
shorts was out, and I hollered back to run us on meal, 
and she said the meal was out, and then I surrendered 
and had some wheat and corn sent to the mill, and 
in about an hour Ralph come back and said one mill 
dam had washed away and the other mill had up the 
rocks a peckin' of 'em, and the creek was still a risin' 
and he couldn't cross any more, and I sent him to one 
nabor to borrow and they had locked up and gone a 
visitin', and another nabor didn't have but a handful 
in the house, and so here we are jest a perishin' to 
death in the name of the State , and if you and your 
folks have got any bowels now is the time to extend to 



166 Bill Arp. 

me and my folks your far reachin' sympathies — ain't 
it? 

And Mrs. Arp thought it a good day to clean up 
the kitchen and scour up the pans and cook- vessels, 
and the girls said shorely nobody would come foolin' 
around in such wether, and they went to moppin' and 
sloppin' over the house, and shore enuf about four 
o'clock this evenin' p. m.., in the afternoon a couple 
of nice young gentlemen swum their horses all the 
way from town to get to see 'em, and there was no 
darkey to open the door and my black-eyed Poca- 
hontas had it to do, and she got behind it and hid 
and ax'd 'em in, and about sundown I come home and 
told 'em I was agoin' to put up their nags and they 
must stay all night, which was the boldest venture on 
the least capital I ever made in my life, but they 
respectfully declined, which was fortunate for them, 
for although bright eyes and rosy cheeks and bang'd 
up hair may have some effect on a young man's heart, 
they are mighty little comfort to his stomach — ain't 
they? 

And it ain't done freshin' yet, for the frogs are 
croakin' and the air is full of swet and the salt sticks 
together and the camphor bottle is cloudy, and I don't 
think Mrs. Arp is as smilin' as usual, and all of these 
signs hardly ever fail at once, you know. 

Such is life and I can't help it. The bad and the 
good, the wet and the dry, is all mixed up together. 
I have spread forth my trouble and feel better. 
There's lots of folks in my fix, and I want 'em to 



Bill Arp. 167 

know I sympathize. I'm sorry for 'em, and if they 
are sorry for me it's all right. As Cobe says, it's all 
right. We have got a power of good things to be 
thankful for. A little boy was drowned in my na- 
bor's mill-pond yesterday, but he wasn't mine. The 
doctor passes my house most every day, but he don't 
stop. There was a barn full of corn and mules burnt 
up in the settlement last week, but it wasent mine. 
The poor-house is just up the road a piece, but we 
don 't board there. I 'm not a candidate for any office. 
I've got plenty to eat right now, and when we get 
tired of our homely fare we can just step over to 
nabor Freeman's and fare better. There's nothing 
like having a good nabor in eating distance — for we 
don't have to dress up nor put on any particular 
style about it, but just send up word we are coming 
up to supper and it's all right. Folks can't do that 
way in town. 



168 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



The Struggle for Money. 

I don't hear of many folks getting rich. I don't 
know of but a few who are making more than a good 
fair living, and there's ten to one who are powerfully 
scrouged to do that. The majority of mankind are 
always on a strain. Most of them work hard enough, 
but somehow or somehow other, they can't get ahead, 
and a good many are in old Plunket's fix who said he 
was even with the world, for he owed about as much 
as he dident owe. Some folks are just like hogs. 
They won't stay in one place or keep at one business 
long enough to make anything, but are always a root- 
ing and ranging around for new places. I've noticed 
children picking blackberries — some will stay at a 
bush until they have gathered 'em all and others will 
spend nearly all the time in hunting for a better place. 
You can tell 'em by their buckets when they get home. 
My good old father used to say he never knew a man 
to stick closely to a business for ten years but what 
he made money — that is, excepting preaching and 
politics. The one don't want to make it and the other 
can't keep it, as a general rule, for money made easy 
goes easy. When a lawyer gets five dollars for writ- 
ing a deed he spends it before night, but if he had to 
make ten bushels of corn to get it he would carry it 



Bill Arp. 169 

in his pocket just as long as he conld. It's altogether 
another sort of a V. But it's all right, provided we 
are happy, and I don't think there is very much dif- 
ference in this respect between the poor and the rich. 
I used to be sorter curious of rich people, and won- 
dered at Providence for letting them have so much 
more than they needed, but I ain't now; I've got 
more sense, for I perceive they are no happier than 
I am, and then, besides, when they begin to get old 
their grip weakens, and they build up colleges and 
churches, and orphans' homes, and establish libraries 
and other institutions. If they don't do that, their 
children get it, and as a general rule they scatter it 
all before they die, for it comes easy and will go the 
same way. So it's all right in the long run and if 
it ain't I can't help it, and I'm not going to grieve 
over what I can't remedy. Honest industry and a 
contented disposition is the best insurance company 
for happiness in this world and will make a man inde- 
pendent of fine houses and fine clothes and the lux- 
uries of life on the one side, and court houses and 
jails and pinching poverty on the other. It seems to 
me that somebody has said something like this before, 
but I'll say it again anyhow. There's one thing I 
consider settled — my children will have no chance to 
waste and squander my money, for there won't be 
any left to speak of and it will be such a long divis- 
ion the fractions will be too small to fuss about. 
Time about is fair play, and if we take care of them 
in infancy and youth and spend the last dollar we 



170 Bill Arp. 

get on 'em, they must look after iis when we get old * 
and helpless — and they will, I know. We've tried to 
make their young lives happ3^ I've mighty nigh 
wore myself out playing horse and marbles and carry- 
ing 'em on my back, and rolling 'em in a wheelbarrow, 
and doing a thousand things to please 'em, and that's 
more than a rich man will do, who is all absorbed in 
stocks and bonds and speculation, and goes home at 
night with money on the brain. He's no father — he 
ain't; he's a machine. The average family man is 
hard run. There's nobody perishing or freezing in 
this sunny land, and very few folks boarding at the 
poor-house, but still there is a general struggle going 
on in the town and the country. Most everybody is 
in debt more or less, and what one crop don't pay has 
to lap over on the next. The merchants say that 
money is awful tight right now, and I reckon it is. 
I'm sorry for the merchants, for as a general thing 
money is their sole dependence. If he hasent got any 
money he is a busted institution, and that is where 
the advantage of being a farmer comes in. He can 
be out of money and still squeeze along, for he has 
corn and wheat and sheep and hogs and chickens, and 
don't have to wear store clothes to any great extent, 
and his children can wear their old ones a long time 
and go bare headed and bare footed when there's no 
company around. Town folks have to dress better 
and dress oftener, whether they can pay for 'em or 
not. But it is a hard time all round to make a liv- 
ing, and I don't know exactly what is the matter. 



Bill Arp. 171 

The average family is not extravagant. They under- 
stand the situation at home and try to conform, but 
it looks like they are just obleeged to fudge a little 
and go in debt, and then the misery begins. When 
the good man gets his mail from the post-office he is 
most afraid to open it for fear of a dun. These 
darned little just debts, as Saul McCarney used to 
call 'em, hang around him like a shadow. The four 
D's are mighty close kin — debt, duns, death and the 
devil — and one is nearly as welcome as the other. A 
man who was born rich and managed to keep so, or 
a man who was born poor and has gotten rich, don't 
know much about the horror of debt and hasent got 
much sympathy for the debtor class and is very apt 
to lay it all to their imprudence or bad management, 
but the fact is most of our rich men got a start before 
the war or built up on the ruins of it before society 
with its extravagance got hold of 'em. They could- 
ent do it now. I know lots of rich men who, if they 
were to lose their fortunes, couldent start now and 
make another. They think they could, but they 
couldent; mankind are too smart and too sharp now 
for an old-fashioned man to stand any chance. He 
would get licked up in his first experiment. Money 
makes money and money can keep money after it is 
made, but there is a slim chance now for a young 
man^to make money and save it and keep in gunshot 
of society. He can bottle himself up and remain a 
bachelor and turn his back on society and accumulate 
a fortune, but the trouble is that most of 'em want to 



1^3 Bill Arp. 

marry and ought to marry, and if he bottles himself 
up and spends nothing and dresses common he is not 
the sort of man the girls are waiting for. And so if 
he spends freely and rides around, he is apt to get 
married, and then comes house rent and servant's 
hire and clothes according, and he squeezes along and 
is always on the strain. There are mighty few get- 
ting rich now-a-days, but when a man does get a 
start, he can get richer than they used to. A half a 
million now is about what fifty thousand dollars used 
to be. But the average man is not going to get rich, 
and I reckon it is the common lot, and therefore it is 
all right. Nobody ought to distress himself about it, 
or hanker after money, but somehow I can't help 
wishing that our common people were a little better 
off. 

Let us encourage the boys — the rising young men 
and middle aged men. Let us pat 'em on the back 
and point to the flag and say, "Excelsior." It will 
help 'em climb the mountain. Jesso — but I said 
awhile back that this generation will not produce men 
as grand as our fathers, and it won't. There are no 
young men who give promise of equaling Clay or 
Webster or Calhoun or Crawford or Forsyth or Troup 
or Howell Cobb or Toombs, in the days of his splen- 
dor, or Stephens or Joseph Henry Lumpkin or War- 
ner or Walter T. Colquitt, and a score of others I 
could name. I am talking about grand men — men 
who stood away above their fellows and adorned so- 
ciety like mountains adorn and di<?nify a landscape. 



Bill Arp. 173 

Nobody is to blame about it that I know of, for it 
comes according to nature's laws and the decrees of 
Providence, and I reckon it's all right. Those grand 
men of the olden time have served their day and 
accomplished their work. They moulded manners and 
statesmanship and great principles and patriotism, 
and the masses looked up to them and learned wis- 
dom. All this was in the days of Southern aristoc- 
racy, and these grand men had abundant leisure and 
dident have to be on the wild hunt for money. It 
was the aristocracy of dominion, for dominion digni- 
fied a man then, and it does now just as it did in the 
days of the centurion, who said: "I say unto this 
man go, and he goeth, and to another come, and he 
Cometh." Dominion over men makes a man feel a 
responsibility that nothing else does, and this responsi- 
bility enlarges his moral nature and ennobles him as 
a gentleman and a philosopher. It is this feeling that 
dignifies judges and railroad presidents, and captains 
of ships, and generals in armies. They can all com- 
mand men and be obeyed. 

But the time came in the Providence of God for 
a change. The masses of the people were under a 
cloud. They were overshadowed, and the wreck of 
the slave aristocracy, together with the results of the 
war, made an opening for them and their children. 
Humbler men have come to the front and now run 
the machine. The masses are looming up. Overseers 
have got rich. Poor boys, who had a hard time, are 
now our merchant princes. The old lines of social 



174 Bill Arp. 

standing are broken down, and one man is as good as 
another, if he succeeds. Success is everything now, 
especially success in making money. Statesmanship 
has gone down. Great learning is at a discount, mon- 
ey rules the roost, and everybody knows it, and every- 
body is pushing for it. Money makes presidents, and 
governors and members of congress. We talk about a 
candidate's "bar'l" now just as we used to talk about 
his eloquence or his service to his country. Every- 
where there is a wild rush for money, and it don't 
matter how a man gets it so he gets it. 

Now, how can this sort of an age produce great 
men? How can the young men escape the infection? 
Where is any purity or honor in politics or in the 
court house? When a man has to resort to deceit or 
hypocrisy or questionable means to support his fam- 
ily he loses his self-respect, and when his self-respect 
is gone his ability to be a great man is gone. He 
can't do it. No man is truly great who is not honest 
and sincere and a lover of his fellow-men. A lawyer 
who lies or resorts to tricks — a merchant who con- 
ceals the truth may get rich, but they will never be 
great. I tell you the grand old men are gone, or go- 
ing, and their places will not be filled by this gener- 
ation nor the next. The next generation will be worse 
than this, for these people who have sprung up and 
got rich are going to get richer, and they will spoil 
their children with money and a fashionable educa- 
tion. They are doing it now, and by and by these 
children will get to be proud and vain and no account, 



Bill Arp. 175 

and won't work, and finally go down the hill their 
father climbed. Stuck up vagabonds will marry the 
girls, and the boys will loaf around town and play 
billiards and drive a fast horse. A man who was 
raised poor and by a hard struggle gets rich, is the 
biggest fool in the world about his children. He 
came from one extreme and puts his children on the 
other. 

Nevertheless I am hopeful, and if I do sometimes 
take the shady side, I mean no harm by it. I am always 
reconciled to what I cannot help. The wild rush for 
a big pile of surplus money alarms me, for the older 
I grow the surer I am that the surplus will not bring 
happiness or be a blessing to the children. There is 
no security except in honest industry, and boys won't 
work whose fathers are rich. Old Agur was right. 
"Lord give me neither poverty nor riches, lest if I 
be sick I take thy name in vain or lest I be poor and 
steal." But there is some comfort in this great 
change from the old to the new. The common people 
have a better chance than they used to have. All 
classes are assimulating and becoming more alike — 
more on an equality. One man is about as good as 
another now, if not better. The Joe Brown type is in 
the ascendant, and the humblest man has an equal 
chance for the highest honors. So let it rip along, for 
a wise Providence is above us. * * * 

Cobe says he ''aint makin' a blessed thing — no corn, 
no 'taters, no cotton, no nuthin' — and Willy is down 
with the new-money, and the chickens all died with 



176 Bill Arp. 

the cholera ; ' ' and then he gave a three-cornered grin 
and squeezed his tobacco between his teeth as he re- 
marked, "but, major, it ain't nigh as bad as it mout 
be; it ain't nigh as bad as war." Then he stuck his 
heels in the little mule's flanks and away he went 
galloping up the road. There used to be a bureau 
called the bureau of refugees and abandoned lands. 
Cobe says if them yankees will revive it now he is 
about ready to jine the concern. Says he will do most 
anything except beg or steal, or go to the poor house. 
So when I feel melancholy I think about Cobe and 
cheer up. The truth is, we all borrow too much 
trouble. It is better to look back once in awhile and 
recall the vast amount of fears and forebodings that 
were wasted and maybe that will give us brighter 
hopes of the future. 

*M. J^ M, Mf 4£. M^ M. 

W TT TP •«■ TP * TP 

There's a new lot of boys a circulatin' around us 
now. Grand-children have come to visit us and see 
the spring show open in our country home. Penned 
up for months in a little city, they have lived in a 
sort of prison home and feel now like school boys when 
recess comes — want to go out and rock somebody. 
They hardly took time to kiss and say howdy and 
shuck off their store clothes before they were off — 
dabblin' in the branch, rockin' the ducks in the little 
pond, fighten the ganders as they stand guard over 
their sitting mates, digging bait, fishing for minners, 
rollin' an old hogshead down the hill, breakin' the 
bull calf and every half hour sendin' to grandma for 



Bill Arp. 177 

some more gingerbread. Here they go and there they 
go, while their poor mother jumps up every five min- 
utes to see if they havent got killed or drowned or 
turned over the hen-house. She had like to took a fit 
this mornin' as she looked out of the window and seen 
'em coming down the big road with a calf a pullin' a 
little wagon with gum-log wheels. One a pullin' haw, 
another pullin' gee, and four of 'em a ridin' and all 
a hollerin' tell they made such a racket the calf took 
a panic and run away with the whole concern and 
never stopped tell he got in the branch and landed 
their gable ends in the water. 

Blessings on the children and the children's chil- 
dren. How I do love to have 'em around and see 'em 
frolic, and ever and anon hear one squall with a cut 
finger or a stumped toe, or the bark knocked off his 
hide somewhere. What a pity they have got to grow 
up and see trouble and be sent to the legislature or 
congress, and there get a little behind in morals and 
money . But sufncient unto the day is the evil thereof. 

P. S. — Now is the time to plant potatoes. Be shore 
to plant 'em in the dark of the moon and then plant 
some more just two weeks later, and they'll be ''allee 
samee." I tried it last year. 

* ,itm af. 42, JJf Mf M0 J^ 

tP tk* tI* ^S" ts* vs* •"■ 

My little boy geared up an imitation bug last night, 
made of black cloth with horse-hair legs — an awful 
looking varmint — and slyly swung it before me on a 
stick, and I had like to have a fit, trying to knock the 
ugly thing out of my face. The little rascal just laid 

(7) 



178 Bill Arp. 

down and hollered, and the family ain't done laugh- 
ing about it till yet. Mrs. Arp sometimes tells me I 
let them take too many liberties with the dignity of 
their paternal ancestor, but it's all right, I reckon. 
And I noticed the other night when the girls jerked 
her up from the sofa and whirled her round the room 
to the music of the dance, she submitted to it with a 
humility and a grace that was impressive. I like that. 
I like an affectionate familiarity between parents and 
children, though I want it understood that I'm the 
boss of the family, that is, when Mrs. Art;* is away 
from home. I give 'em butter on their biscuit as a 
regular thing, but when I put sugar on the butter I 
expect 'em to be more than ordinarily grateful. 



Bill Arp. 179 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



New Yearns Time. 

I was discoursing Mrs. Arp, my wife, about that 
last night. You see, it was New Year, and I called on 
her. I dident have any swallow-tail coat and white 
kids, but I called. I had procured a bunch of missel- 
toe full of pearly berries, and I got the girls to make 
it into a wreath with some heliotrope blossoms, and 
sweet violets, and geraniums, and strawberry blooms 
which they had in the pit, and as she sat by the parlor 
fire I came in and addressed her: " Fair lady, I 
come with the New Year 's greeting. May it bring you 
joy and peace, and love and rest, and happy days. 
Thirty long years of devotion and arduous duty in 
the infantry service of your country entitles you to be 
crowned the queen of love and beauty. Allow 
me to encircle your brow with this wreath." 
She enjoyed that first-rate, and when the girls 
took off the chaplet to show it to her, she re- 
marked with a touch of sadness, "It is very beautiful, 
but your promising parent has been promising me a 
tiara of diamonds for thirty years, and now he pays 
me off in mistletoe and flowers. " ' ' Solomon, ' ' said I, 
*'in all his glory, had no such gems as these. You 
know, my dear, I have always desired to be able to 
purchase a diamond ring and breast-pin and a dia- 



180 Bill Arp. 

mond tiara for you, not that you need any ornaments 
to make you beautiful and attractive, for all the gems 
of Golconda could add nothing to your natural loveli- 
ness. " " Ralph, ' ' said she, ' ' your father has got a fit ; 
you had better throw some water on him. ' ' 

''But then," continued I, "the love of ornament is 
natural to women; Isaac knew her weakness when he 
sent Rebecca the ear-rings and bracelets. The ear-rings 
weighing half a shekel apiece, which, according to the 
tables, made the pair worth exactly sixty- two and a 
half cents. It rejoices me, my dear, that I shall soon 
be able to present you with a full set of genuine dia- 
monds of the first water. ' ' 

''When did you get so suddenly rich?" says she. 
' ' Have you drawn a prize in a lottery ? " " Not at all, 
by no means," said I. "But a London chemist has 
just discovered how to make diamonds of charcoal. 
They have known for 20 years how to make charcoal 
out of diamonds, but now they reverse the process and 
pure diamonds will soon be manufactured on a large 
scale, and it is predicted will be sold at about 8 
dollars a bushel. "When they get down to that price, 
my dear, I am going to buy you a whole quart and 
you can string 'em all over you and cook in 'em and 
wash in 'em and make up the beds in 'em. I'm going 
to stick a kohinor in the end of the broom handle. 
What do you think of that, my dear, won't it be ele- 
gant?" 

"No it won't" said she. "I don't want any of 
your charcoal diamonds. Eight dollars a bushel is 25 



Bill Arp. 181 

cents for the quart yon propose to spend on me. I 
wonldn 't be so extravagant if I were yon. No I 
thank yon. Isaac spent more than that on Rebecca, 
and didn't hurt himself. Buy me a carriage and 
horses and I'll do without the diamonds. They were 
intended for homely folks, and I am so beautiful and 
lovely I don't need them. Suppose you try me with 
a pearl necklace. I reckon your London man is not 
making pearls out of charcoal, is he?'' 

' ' Why, that 's an old trick, ' ' said I. ' ' Parisian jew- 
elers have them at fifty cents a string and you can't 
tell them from the genuine. What does it matter if 
they are cheap so they are beautiful? What are all 
the gems of the ocean to be compared to these fragrant 
and lovely flowers that cost us nothing? Beautiful 
flowers that 'weep without woe and blush without a 
crime.' I never liked golden ornaments, nohow; as 
Tom Hood says, it's 'bright and yellow, hard and 
cold;' you can't tell it from brass without close in- 
spection, and it wouldent be worn as jewelry if it was 
cheap. I wish everything was cheap — cheap as the 
air and the water. Then we wouldent be tied down 
to one little spot all the time, but we would travel — 
we would go to Florida and California and London 
and Paris and all over the Alps, and see the pyramids 
and the city of Jerusalem, and when we got tired we 
would come back home again and rest. Wouldent that 
be splendid?" 

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Arp. ''All that is very ro- 
mantic, but it sounds very much like 'college talk,' as 



182 Bill Arp. 

old Mr. Dobbins would say. Whenever he hears any- 
body gassing around or talking extraordinary he 
says, ' ' Oh, that don 't amount to anj^thing. Its college 
talk. ' ' He says he never knew a college-bred man that 
didn 't build air-castles, and imagine a heap more than 
ever come in sight. "We are right here on this farm 
and we will never, see California nor the pyramids, 
and I'll never see the diamonds nor the pearls, and 
I don't care to, but I never like cheap things for they 
are not much account — so will fall back on the flowers, 
and when you have a little money to spare I want to 
send on for a few choice ones and a collection of seed. 
Do you understand?" 

''I do, madam," said I, "you are a sensible Vv^oman. 
You shall have the money if I have to sell my Sunday 
boots. 'Bring flowers, bring flowers to the fair young 
bride.' " 

I believe it's a good rule for everybody 'to attend 
to their own business. The other night I was reading 
aloud to the family about a feller who was standing 
at the forks of the road with an umbrella over him, 
when a flock of sheep came along and got tangled up, 
and so he thought he would help the driver by shoo- 
ing 'em a little and waving his umbrel. An old ram 
dident like that and suddenly made for him and went 
through his umbrel like it was a paper hoop, and 
having knocked him down in the mud, he had to lay 
there until about a hundred sheep jumped over him 
one at a time. When he arose and took in his dilap- 
idated condition, he remarked : ' ' The next time I see 



Bill Arp. 183 

a drove of sheep a-eoming I reckon I'll attend to my 
own business. '^ 

Next day Mrs. Arp, my wife, was fixing to grind 
up sausage meat and I ventured to remark that if she 
would salt the pieces before she put them through the 
machine, it would save her a heap of trouble. Her 
sleeves were rolled up and as she looked at me she 
assumed a chivalric attitude and remarked: "There 
will be an old ram after you the first thing you know. ' ' 
Of course I retired in good order, and now I can't 
make a remark about domestic affairs without having 
that old ram thrown up to me. You see a woman has 
more liberty of speech than a man, for its mighty nigh 
the only liberty she has and I don't begrudge her the 
use of it. But then their five senses are more sensitive 
and acute than ours. In fact I think my wife, Mrs. 
Arp, has seven or eight, for she can come to a conclu- 
sion about things so quick it makes my head swim, 
and I know she must have some perceptions unknown 
to the books. She can hear more unaccountable noises 
in the night, and see more dirt on the floor, and smell 
more disagreeable odors than anybody in the world. 
I won't say she can point partridges, but a few years 
ago our nabor come over one day and said he had lost 
his dog, and my wife, Mrs. Arp, laid down her knit- 
ting, and says she : ' ' That dog is in our well. The 
water has tasted and smelt dog all day." We all 
laughed at her and continued to use the water for 
two or three days, but she dident. Finally, we give 
it up that something was wrong, and I sent a darkey 



184 Bill Arp. 

down a hundred feet to tlie bottoiii, and shore enon^h 
there was the dog. 

Well, the rats took possession of our house not lon^ 
ago and we could hear 'em at all times of night rip- 
ping around overhead and playing tag and leap-frog, 
till it was past endurance. So I got some rat poison 
that was warranted to drive 'em away to water, and 
shore enough they disappeared and we were happy. 
The next morning my wife, Mrs. Arp, was snuffling 
around about the mantel-piece, and says she, "Wil- 
liam, these rats are dead, but they never went after 
water — they are in these walls." Well, we dident 
pay much attention until next day, w^hen some of the 
family thought there was a very faint taint in the 
atmosphere. We waited another day, and then had 
to take down the mantel-piece and found six dead 
ones behind it as big as young squirrels, and we have 
mighty nigh tore the house all to pieces hunting for 
the rest of 'em. Fact is, we had to quit the room, 
and it's just gittin' so now we can live in it. There's 
no fooling such a nose with fraudulent combinations. 
If a man ventures to take a little something for his 
stomach's sake and his often infirmities, she can tell 
what kind of medicine it was by the time he gets to 
the front gate, which to say the least of it is very 
inconvenient. 



Bill Arp. 185 



CHAPTER XXV. 



Old Things Are Passing Away and All Things 
Have Become New. 

That is the way it used to be in Scripture times, 
and it is the same way now. I wonder what were 
their old things? In those primitive days there were 
not very many things of any Idnd — not much inven- 
tion or contrivance — no steamboats, no steam cars, or 
telegraphs, or telephones, or sewing machines, or tele- 
scopes, or spectacles, or cooking stoves, or reaping 
machines, or threshing machines, or patent plows, or 
cotton factories, or wool carders, or printed books, or 
the like. But still I suppose they did improve some, 
and shook off the old ways of living, and cooking, and 
dressing. I was looking at a venerable patch-work 
quilt the other day that a good old lady made some 
forty years ago, and it was very nice and pretty ; and 
right beside it, on another bed, was a printed one that 
was pretty, too. One costs days and weeks of labor, 
and the fingers got tired, and so did the eyes, and I 
reckon the back; and if the labor and time could be 
fairly computed, it was worth twenty-five dollars, and 
now one can be made for a dollar that is just as good 
and just as pretty. What a world of trouble our fore- 
fathers and foremothers had! And yet they were 
just as happy and got along about as easy as we do. 



186 Bill Arp. 

They dident want much and they dident have much. 
They had simple ways and simple habits. They 
prized what they had made a good deal more than we 
do what we buy. When the good housewife put the 
last stitch in a woolen coverlet, or even a pair of 
woolen socks, she felt happy. Her work was a suc- 
cess and it was a pride. 

The other day I received a present of a pair of 
socks, knit with golden silk, and the good old lady 
wrote me a note with her trembling fingers that this 
was the 865th pair that she had knit upon the same 
needles; that she began more than half a century ago 
and had knit for young and old, for silver weddings 
and golden weddings, and for weddings that were 
new-born — when the lily and the rose put their first 
blush upon the maiden's cheek; that she had knit 
scores of pair for the soldiers in the last terrible war, 
both in the field and in the hospital, and that she 
had never lost any time from her other household- 
duties, but knit only after her other labors were done. 

Well, it is a wonderful amount of work to think 
about. I know some venerable women, who are close 
akin and very dear to me, who have been working 
in the same way, too. They havent knit as much, but 
they have sewed and patched and darned for large 
households and never complained. It is a world of 
work for a mother to keep her children clothed, es- 
pecially in these days when it takes more clothes than 
it used to. How many little jackets and v/aists, and 
breeches, and shirts, and drawers, and petticoats, and 



Bill Arp. 187 

dresses, and aprons, and socks, and stockings ! When 
the great pile of clothes comes in from the washer- 
woman, and Mrs. Arp sits down beside it to assort out 
and put away in the different drawers, I look on with 
amazement, and wonder when she made them all. 
Why, it takes about sixty different garments for our 
youngest child, who is only ten years old, and she 
hasent got anything fine — not very fine. There are 
about ten little dresses, mostly calico, and a like num- 
ber of undergarments and stockings and aprons, but 
it takes work, work — lots of work — and the sewing 
machine rattles away most all the time. What a bless- 
ing that wonderful invention is to woman, for society 
is exacting and progressive, and the families of mod- 
erate means could hardly keep in sight of the rich if 
all the stitches had to be made by hand. As it is, 
we keep up pretty well — that is, we keep in a respec- 
table distance — and our folks can fix up well enough 
to go to church and send the children to school. 

The old ways were pretty hard ways, and the next 
generation is not going to work like the last. I am 
glad that it won't have to, for it is a waste of time 
and toil to make a patch- work quilt now, or to knit 
the stockings, or to beat the biscuit dough, or to bake 
them in a spider with coals underneath and coals on 
top of the heavy old-fashioned lid. Our mothers used 
to do all that 'Svlien niggers was," but the cooking 
stove came along just in the right time, and now it 
is much easier to cook "when niggers wasent." 

Everything was hard to do in the old times. It 



188 Bill Arp. 

was hard to thresh out the wheat with a couple of 
hickory flails. I have swung them many a day until 
my arms were tired, and I could find only a few 
bushels under the straw after a half day's work. But 
it made me strong and made the wheat bread taste 
mighty good. I remember the first cotton gin that 
was put up in our county, and the long round bags 
we used to pack with a crow-bar, and how we used 
to wagon it to Augusta and camp out at night and 
hear the old trusty v/agoners recite their wonderful 
adventures. It was a glorious time to us boys, and 
when we got back home again and brought sugar, and 
salt, and coffee, and molasses, and shoes all round for 
white and black with the wooden measures in them, 
and the names written upon them all, the family was 
as happy and merry as if Christmas had come before 
its time. I remember when a pocket-knife was a won- 
derful treasure, and a pair of boots the height of all 
ambition. But now a pocket-knife is nothing to a 
boy. He can lose it in a month and get another, and 
if he isent born in boots, he gets them soon after, 

' ' I remember, I remember 

The house where I was born. 
The little windows where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn. ' ' 

Well, there was no glass in that window — only a 
shutter — and there was no ceiling overhead. But we 
boys kept warm under the cover of a winter night, and 
when the rain pattered on the shingle roof above us 
it was the sweetest and most soothing lullaby in the 



Bill Arp. 189 

world. Folks would complain now if their children 
had to put up with such a shelter, and I reckon they 
ought to, for this generation haven't been raised that 
way and they couldent stand it. But we found out 
during the war what we could stand, and it dident 
take us very long to get used to it. A shingle roof 
and a plank window would have been a luxury then. 
But even war is not as hard as it used to be. Here 
IS a road in front of my house that Gen. Jackson's 
soldiers cut out, and it is called Jackson's road yet. 
He cut it out for a hundred miles during the war of 
1812. In those days, when the soldiers wanted to 
march across a country, they had to carry the roads 
with them. They had to make them as they went 
along; but now the railroads pick up an army and 
hurry it along — everything is lightning now. 

Truly, the old things are done away. Farewell to 
home-made chairs, and home-made jeans, and the old 
back log, and the crane that swung in the kitchen 
fire-place, and to home-made baskets, and shuck col- 
lars, and shuck foot-mats, and dominicker chickens 
and old-fashioned cows, and castor oil, and paregoric, 
and opodeldoc, and salts, and sassafras tea. Farewell 
to marigolds and pinks and holly-hocks, for there are 
finer flowers now. Farewell to simplicity of manners, 
and water without ice, and temperate habits, and con- 
tented dispositions. Farewell to abundance of time 
to come and to go and to stay, for everybody is in a 
hurry now — a dreadful hurry — for there is a pressure 
upon us all, a pressure to keep up with the crowd, 



190 Bill Arp. 

and the times, and with society. Push ahead, keep 
moving, is the watchword now, and we must push or 
we will get run over, and be crushed and forgotten. 

So let us all work and keep up if we can. We must 
fall into line and keep step to the new music that is 
in the air. ''Old Hundred" is gone, and "Sweet 
Home," and "Kathleen Mavourneen," and "Billy in 
the Low-grounds," and now it is something else that 
passeth comprehension. But there is no use in com- 
plaining about what we cannot help, for some things 
are better, even if others are worse. We can still do 
our duty and put on the brakes for our children. 
We can tell them to go slow and go sure. Be honest. 
Money is a good thing, but money gained by fraud 
or by luck will do no good. Money earned by honest, 
diligent labor is the only kind that will stick to a 
man and do good. Money is a social apology for lack 
of brains or lack of education or graceful manners, 
but it is no apology for lack of honesty or good prin- 
ciples. Make money, save money, but not at the sac- 
rifice of self-respect or the respect of others. Some 
things pay in the short run and for a little while, 
but honesty and truth and diligence pay in the long 
run, and that is the run we have to die by. Folks 
differ about religion and politics, but all mankind 
agree on this. It is old-fashioned talk, I know, but 
some old-fashioned things ^re good yet. I have even 
got respect for my rheumatism, for it has stuck by 
me like a friend for a long time, and is nearly the 
only disease that has not changed its name and its 
pain since I was a boy. 



Bill Arp. 191 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



But Once a Year. 

Another busy year has gone — gone like the water 
that has passed over the dam — gone never to return. 
It has carried many friends along with it and left 
sad memories in our household, but on the whole it 
has been a good year to us all, and Providence has 
been kind. Now is the time to look back and review 
the past — to take an account of stock like the mer- 
chants do — a time to be thankful for what we have 
received, and to compare our condition, not with those 
who are better off, but with those who are worse off. 

It is a good time to feel happy, for there is some- 
thing about Christmas that seems like a recess from 
a long year of work, and toil, and tribulation. Man 
needs just such a rest for body, and mind, and spirit. 
These periods of relaxation prolong life, both of man 
and beast. If it were not for the Sabbath we would 
wear out before we got old, and I remember reading 
a long time ago about some emigrants going overland 
to California. Some of them rested their teams every 
Sunday, and some did not, and the first got there 
several days ahead, and were in the best condition at 
the end of the long journey. But one day in seven 
is not enough — we want a whole week at the end of 
the year, and according to Scripture it is a good 



192 Bill Arp. 

thing to have a whole year in seven — a year of jubi- 
lee when even the land we till shall have a rest and 
a time to recover itself and renew its wasted energies. 
Blessings on the holy fathers who established the 
Christmas holidays, and on the good men who for 
eighteen centuries have preserved it for us and our 
children. It is a blessed heritage and belongs to ail 
alike — the rich and the poor, the bond and the free, 
the king and his subject. But these good old ways 
are changing and becoming circumscribed. Mankind 
is growing too stingy of time. Christmas used to last 
from the 25th of December to the 6th of January, 
and for twelve days there was neither work nor toil, 
nor official business, nor suits for debt, dunning, nor 
preparations for war, but all was peace and pleasure 
and kindly feelings. The peasant was on a level with 
the prince, and the girls and boys wore chaplets of 
ivy and laurel and holly and evergreen, and it was 
no sin for them to take a sly kiss while the rosemary 
wreaths encircled their brows, for a kiss under the 
rose was an emblem of innocence and had the sanction 
of heaven, and love whispered while wearing the mis- 
tletoe crown was too pure to be lost or betrayed. 

I love the old superstition that clusters around this 
season of joy and gladness. Long did I lament the 
day when my childish eyes were opened and I learned 
there was no Saint Nicholas nor Santa Claus, no rein- 
deer on the roof, no coming down the chimney to fill 
the stockings that hung by the mantel. Even now 
I would fain believe, with Shakespeare, that for these 



Bill Arp. 193 

twelve days witches, and hobgoblins, and devilish spir- 
its had to fly away from the haunts of men and hide 
themselves in the dark pits and caves of the earth, 
while the good spirits who love and watch over us 
nestled their invisible forms among the evergreens that 
hung upon the walls. It was pleasant to think that 
on the last day of the twelve the cattle knelt down 
at midnight and humbly prayed that souls might be 
given them when they died, so that they, too, might 
live in heaven and worship God. I hope the poor 
things will have a good time in the next world, for 
they see a rough one in this, and I reckon they will, 
considering what a splendid pair of horses came down 
after the prophet Elijah, Heaven wouldn't be any 
the less heaven to me to find my good dog Bows up 
there, all renewed in his youth, and to receive the 
glad welcome that wags in his diminished tail. 

How naturally we become reconciled to the ap- 
proach of death. How tired we get fighting through 
the hard battle of life. I remember when it was the 
grief and horror of my young life that sometime or 
other I would have to surrender and give it up, but 
I don't care now. Let it come. I would not live it 
over again if I could. I do not lament like Job that 
I was ever born, but still I have no desire to hold on 
and worry and struggle for several hundred years 
longer, as did the old patriarchs before the flood. If 
I was a good man, and everything moved along se- 
renely I wouldn't care, but there's a power of trouble, 
and we make the most ♦of it ourselves. Like David 



194 Bill Arp. 

and Solomon, we keep sinning and repenting", and the 
memory of it haunts a man and cuts into him like a 
knife, and all sorts of friends come along- and clutch 
the handle and give it a gentle twist. Not one in a 
thousand will pull it out and put a little salve on 
the wound. 

I always thought it a pretty idea to weigh a man 
— to put his life in a pair of balances, the good on 
one side and the bad on the other, and let him rise 
to heaven or fall below it, as the scales might turn. 
I know it's not an orthodox doctrine exactly, for they 
say that one bad deed will outweigh a thousand good 
ones. Nevertheless, Belshazzer was v\^eighed, and the 
Scriptures abound in such figures of speech. It will 
take miracles of grace to save us all anyhow, and it 
becomes everybody to help one another, for the devil 
is doing his best. David committed murder, and Sol- 
omon worshipped idols, Cain killed his brother, and 
Jacob cheated Esau out of his birthright, and Noah 
got drunk and Peter denied his Master; but they all 
repented and got forgiveness, and if there's any dif- 
ference between folks now and then I don't know it, 
unless it is that they had the strongest support and 
the least temptation to fall. 

But then, a man ought not to take too much com- 
fort from such comparisons, for they savor of vanity, 
and vanity don't save anybody nor keep him from 
doing wrong. A man who moves along the pathway 
of life happily and serenely in the midst of cares and 
temptations, is a long ways better off than one who 



Bill Arp. 195 

don't. A man who brings no sorrow to his friends 
and nabors lives to a better purpose than one who 
does, and it must be a blessed bed to die on when a 
man gets old and has no stinging memories in his 
pillow-case. There is no goodlier sight in nature than 
a good man going down to the grave in graceful com- 
posure. I recall one who, not long ago, reached his 
four-score years and died. He was a model of that 
sweet decay that has no odor of dissolution. He was 
never a burden nor a cross, and to the last received 
his children and his children's children with a rejoic- 
ing smile. Would that I, too, like him, might go 
down behind the everlasting hills — not in a cloud nor 
yet in a blaze of glory, but rather like the sun when 
his rays are softened and subdued by the Indian sum- 
mer sky. 

Our family frolic is over. The show of it and the 
pleasant hilarity of the occasion, with all the delight- 
ful surprises and rejoicings, passed away most hap- 
pily, but the sweet perfume of love and kindness that 
Christmas brought remains with us still. It is more 
blessed to give than to receive, and the purest pleasure 
we can feel is in making others happy. In the good 
old times Prince Rupert used to go round in disguise 
and find out who was needy and grateful and kiuvl, 
and when Christmas came he distributed his gifts 
according to their deservings. It seems to me that if 
I was Mr. Vanderbilt I would like that, but maybe 
not. 



196 Bill Arp. 

Then a rich and merry Christmas to the rich, 
And a bright and happy Christmas to the poor; 

So their hearts are joyful it doesn't matter which 
Has the fine velvet carpet on the floor. 

For riches bring a trouble when they come, 
And money leaves a pain when it goes, 

But everybody now must have a little sum 
To brighten up the year at its close. 

*Mt 4£. M^ M^ 

W TT W W 

Pleasing the children is about all that the majority 
of mankind is living for, though they don't realize it, 
and if they did they would hardly acknowledge it. 
It is emphatically the great business of this sublunary 
life. We look on with amazement at the busy crowd 
in the towns and cities that are ever going to and 
fro, and the most of them are working and struggling 
to please and maintain children. It is the excuse for 
all the mad rush of business that hurries mankind 
through the world. It is the apology for nearly all 
the stealing and cheating and lying in the land. One 
time a man sold me a Poland China sow for $15 and 
she eat up $5 worth of chickens the day I got her, 
and when I asked him why he didn't tell me she was 
a chicken eater, he smiled and said he thought I would 
find it out soon enough. He spent that money on 
his children and so I had to forgive him. Sometimes 
when I ruminate on the meanness of we grown-up 
folks, I wish that the children would never get grown, 
for they don't get very mean or foolish until they do. 

Now the biggest part of all this Christmas business 



Bill Arp. 197 

is to please the children. Of course there is service 
in the churches, and the good pious people celebrate 
the day in prayer and devotion, but most of it is for 
the children. The stores are thronged with parents 
hunting something for them. The Christmas trees 
are for them, and all the dolls and wagons and tea- 
sets and pocket-knives and harps and fire crackers and 
a thousand other things too numerous to mention. 
Why, there will be five thousand dollars spent in this 
county this week for Christmas gifts. There will be 
half a million in the State. There will be twenty 
millions in the United States, and it is nearly all for 
children. So, my young friends, you must under- 
stand how very important you are in this world's af- 
fairs, but you needent get uppity nor bigoty about 
it, for that spoils all the old folks' pleasure. 

Now, let us all imagine we are around the cheerful 
Christmas fire, and talk about Christmas and tell what 
it means. Of course you know that it is ihe anni- 
versary of the birth of Christ, and all Christian peo- 
ple celebrate it. It is very common every^vhere to 
celebrate birthdays. Americans make a big fuss over 
Washington's birthday because he was called the 
father of his country. My folks made a little fuss 
over my birthday and my good wife's birthday. 
They don't toot horns nor pop fire-crackers, but they 
have an extra good dinner and fix up a pleasant sur- 
prise of some sort. We used to surprise the children 
with a little present like a pocket-knife, or a pair of 
scissors, or sleeve buttons or something, but so many 



198 Bill Arp. 

children came along that there was a birthday in sight 
almost all the time, and as we got rich in children 
we got poor in money and had to skip over sometimes. 
The 4th of July was the birthday of a nation and so 
the nation always celebrates that day. 

Christians began to observe Christmas about 1,500 
years ago at Jerusalem and Rome. They had service 
in the churches and made it a day of rejoicing. In 
course of time the young people rather lost sight of 
the sacredness of the day and the devotion that was 
due to the occasion, and made it a day of frolicking 
and feasting. They sang hilarious songs, because 
they said the shepherds sang songs at Bethlehem. 
They made presents to each other because they said 
the wise men from the east brought presents to the 
young child and its mother. They kept up their fes- 
tivities all night because the Saviour was born at mid- 
night. The Roman Catholic Church has observed 
these annual celebrations for centuries, and the 
Church of England took them up, and so did the 
Protestants in Germany and other countries. Chris- 
tians everywhere adopted them, and Christmas day 
became a universal holiday except among the Puritans 
of New England, who forbade it under penalties. 
They never frolicked or made merry over anything. 
In a great painting of the nativity by Raphael, there 
is seen a shepherd at the door playing on a bagpipe. 
The Tyrolese who live on the mountain slopes of Italy 
always come down to the valleys on Christmas eve, 
and they come caroling sweet songs and playing on 



Bill Arp. 199 

musical instruments, and spend the night in innocent 
festivities. A century or so ago there were many 
curious superstitions about Christmas. It was be- 
lieved that an ox and an ass that were near by when 
the Saviour was born bent to their kness in suppli- 
cation, and so they said the animals all went to prayer 
every Christmas night. Of course they might have 
known better if they had watched all night to see, but 
when folks love a superstition they humor it. If a 
child believes in ghosts they are sure to see them, 
whether they are there or not. These old-time people 
believed that when the rooster crowed on Christmas 
night all the wizards and witches and hobgoblins and 
evil spirits fled away from the habitations of men and 
hid in caves and hollow trees and deserted houses, and 
stayed there for twelve days. 

Nations have superstitions just like individuals 
have them. The Persians had their genii and fairies ; 
the Hindoos their rakshar; the Greeks and Romans 
had all sorts of wonderful gods and goddesses, such 
as Jupiter and Juno and Hercules and Vulcan and 
Neptune, and they built temples for them to dwell in. 
The more learned and enlightened a people are the 
more sublime are their superstitions. The uncivilized 
Indians are mystified and ' ' see God in the clouds, and 
hear Him in the wind." The native Africans come 
down to crocodiles and serpents and ov/ls for their 
gods. Some of the negro tribes take a higher grade 
of animals and set their faith in brer fox and brer 
rabbit, as Uncle Remus has told you. When I was 



200 Bill Arp. 

a boy we could tell the difference in the negro char- 
acter by the stories they told us in their cabins at 
night ; and good negroes always told us funny, cheer- 
ful stories about the tar baby, and the bear and the 
bee-tree, and about foxes and wolves; but the bad 
negroes told us about witches and ghosts and Jack- 
o'-lanterns, and raw-head-and-bloody-bones. I used 
to listen to them until I didn't dare to look around, 
and I got up closer and closer to the fire, and when 
my brother called me I had to be carried to the house 
in a negro's arms. But what about the evergreens, 
the holly and laurel and ivy and mistletoe and the 
Christmas tree? That is a curious history, too, and 
it all came from the poetry and romance that belongs 
to our nature. Evergreens have for ages been used 
as symbols of immortality. The vistors returning 
from the wars were crowned with them; chaplets of 
green leaves and vines were made for the successful 
ones at the Olympic games. The poets of Scripture 
tell us of green bay trees and the cedars of Lebanon. 
Churches and temples have been decorated with them 
for centuries. Evergreens have always had a poetic 
prominence in the vegetable kingdom. We all love 
them, for they cheer us in midwinter when there are 
no other signs of vegetation to gladden our longing 
eyes. 

Now, children, these superstitions are all fancy, as 
you know, and are not even founded on fact, and yet 
it is human nature to love them. We are all fond of 
anything that is marvelous, especially if it turns out 



i 



Bill Arp. 201 

well for the good. We love to read the Arabian 
Nights, and we rejoice with Alibaba who outwitted the 
forty thieves, and with Aladdin who found the won- 
derful lamp. Just so we rejoice with Cinderella for 
marrying the prince, and we take comfort in it, al- 
though we know it never happened. It is human na- 
ture to want good to triumph over bad, and on this 
heavenly trait in our humanity is our government and 
our social system founded. 

You know all about St. Nicholas and Santa Claus, 
and where that pleasant superstition came from, but 
the traditions of the Germans about the good Knight 
Eupert are just as good, and, I think, are more stim- 
ulating to the children. In every little village Knight 
Rupert comes out just after twelve o'clock, and no- 
body knows where he comes from. He has a beauti- 
ful sleigh and four fine horses, all dressed up in silver 
spangles and silver bells, and he dashes around from 
house to house and calls out the mother and whispers 
something to her, and she whispers something to him, 
and he nods his head and wags his long gray beard 
and dashes away to the next house. You see he is 
going around to find out from the mother which ones 
of her children have been good and which ones have 
been bad, so as to know what presents to bring and 
how many. If the goodmother says sorrowfully, 
"Well, Knight Rupert, my Tom has not been a good 
boy; he is not kind to his sisters, and he is selfish 
and has fights with other boys, and he won't study at 
school, but I hope he will get to be better, so please 



202 Bill Arp. 

bring Tom some little thing, won't you?" She is 
obliged to tell the truth on all her children, and it 
goes very hard with her sometimes. So after Knight 
Rupert has been all around he drives away about dark 
and nobody knows where he went to. That night he 
brings the presents while the children are all asleep, 
and sure enough Tom don't get anything. Now, that 
is what they pretend to believe, but of course Knight 
Rupert is some good jolly fellow about town, and he 
is all bundled up and disguised and cuts up just such 
a figure as old Santa Glaus does in the pictures. 

The year is almost gone, and all of us ought to stop 
a minute and think about how much good we have 
done since the last Christmas — how many times we 
have tried to make our kindred happy — not only our 
kindred, but our nabors and companions. As I came 
out of the Markham House, in Atlanta, one cold morn- 
ing, two little dirty newsboys came running up to 
me from opposite directions to sell me a paper. They 
are not allowed to go inside the hotels to sell papers, 
and so they stand outside in the cold and watch for 
the men to come out. One of these boys w^as a stout 
lad of ten years, and the other was a little puny, pale- 
face, barefooted chap, and although he was the far- 
thest off, he got to me first. I said to the biggest 
boy, * ' Why didn 't you run ? You could have got here 
first." He smiled and said, ''I dident want to." 
"Why not?" said I; ''Is that boy your brother?" 
*'No, sir," said he, "but he's little, and he's been 
sick." Now, that was kindness that will do for 



Bill Arp. 203 

Christmas or any other day. I gave them a dime 
apiece, and they were happy for a little while. Chil- 
dren, if you can't do a big thing you can do a little 
thing like that. I wouldent let the little ragged news- 
boys get ahead of me. 

We keep Grier's almanac at our house. We get a 
good many almanacs from the merchants as adver- 
tisements, but Grier's is the old standard and is the 
one that is always hung by the mantle. If you have 
that kind at your house and will look at the bottoin 
of the last page to see what kind of w^eather we are 
to have this Christmas week you will find it put 
down this way: "Be thankful for all the blessings 
you have enjoyed this year and try to do better the 
next." That is a curious kind of weather, but it is 
mighty good weather. 



204 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



Grandfather ^s Day — The Little Urchin of the 
Third Generation. 

This is a most blessed land — where everything 
grows that man is obleeged to have, and a power of 
good things throw 'd in just to minister to his pleasure. 
The summer sun is now ripening the fruits of the 
earth, and when I see children and grandchildren and 
nefews and neeses rejoicin' in their wanderin's over 
the fields and orchards, it carries me back to the 
blessed days of childhood. The old-field plums and 
the wild strawberries and cherries, mulberries and 
blackberries were worth more then than gold, and it 
made no difference who was priest or president, or 
how rich was Astor or Girard or any of the nabors, 
or whether Sal Jackson's bonnet was purtier than 
Melyann Thompson's or not. What a glorious luxury 
it was to go barefooted and wade in the branch and 
go saining and climb trees and hunt bird's nests and 
carry the corn to the mill and leave it, just to get to 
run a horse-race home again. I know now that those 
days were the happiest, and so I won't rob my pos- 
terity of the same sort, if I can help it. I want 'em to 
love the old homestead, and I want children's children 
to gather about and cherish its memory. What a 
burlesque on childhood's joy it must be to visit 



Bill Arp. 205 

grandma and grandpa in a crowded city, penned up 
in brick walls with a few sickly flowers in front and 
a garden in the rear about as big as a wagon sheet. 
But that's the way the thing is drifting. Them cal- 
culatin' yankees have long ago done away with the 
"old back log" and the blazing hearth-stone and sub- 
stituted a furnace in the basement and a few iron 
pipes running around the walls and a hole in the floor 
to let the heat in. All that may be economy, but in 
my opinion a man can't raise good stock in no such 
way. They'll be picayunish and nice and sharp feat- 
ured and gimlety, but they won't do to bet on like 
them children that's been bro't up 'round a fire-place 
on a hundred acre farm and had plenty of fresh air 
and latitude. 

Pleasin' the children is about all the majority of 
mankind are livin ' for, though they don 't know it, and 
if they did they wouldn't acknowledge it. It is em- 
phatically the great business of life. We look on with 
wonder and amazement at the busy crowds in a great 
city that are ever goin' to and fro like a fiddler's el- 
bow, and eight out of ten of 'em are workin' and 
strugglin' to please and maintain the children. It's 
the excuse for all the mad rush of business that hur- 
ries mankind through the world. It 's the apology for 
nearly all the cheatin' and stealin' and lyin' in the 
land, and in a heap of such cases I have thought the 
good angels would drop tears enuf on the big book 
to blot 'em out forever. The trouble is, that most 
people are always livin' on a strain, tryin' to do a 



206 Bill Arp. 

little too mucli for their children, and scufflin' against 
wind and tide to git just a little ahead of their na- 
bors. Some of 'em won't let a ten year old boy go 
to meetin' or to Sunday-school if he can't fix up as 
fine as other boys. They won't let him go barefooted, 
nor wear a patch behind nor before, nor ride bareback, 
nor go -dirty, and so the domestic pressure for finery 
becomes tremendous. Jesso with bonnets, and para- 
sols, and kid gloves, and silk dresses, and chanyware, 
and carpets, and winder curtains — and a thousand 
things that cost money and runs up the outgo a heap 
bigger than the incum. General^ speakin' this home 
pressure ain't a noisy one, but, on the contrary, is 
very silent and sad — so sad that a body would think 
there was somebody dead in the house, and so after 
awhile sumhow or sumhow else the finery comes, and 
thus for awhile all is screen. But the collapse is 
shore to cum sooner or later, and the children ain't 
to blame for it. Sumtimes when I ruminate upon the 
meanness of mankind, I wish the children would never 
get grown for they don't get mean or foolish until 
they do. Just think what a sweet time of it old 
mother Eve and Mrs. Commodore Noah, and aunt 
Methusaler had with thirty or forty of 'em wearin' 
bibs and aperns until they were fifty years old, tog- 
gin' along after their daddies until they were a hun- 
dred. I don't think old father Woodruff could have 
stood that. Wlien a man who ain't no yearlin' gits 
married, and ten or a dozen of 'em cum right straight 
along in a row, and by the time he gets on the piazza, 



Bill Arp. 207 

tired and griinty, they begin to climb all over him 
and under him and betwixt him, and on the back of 
his chair and the top of his head, it's a little more 
than his venerable nature can stand. On such occas- 
ions, it ain't to be wondered at that he gently shakes 
himself aloose and exclaims, ''Lord have mercy upon 
me." But, then, the like of this must be endured. 
'Tis a part of the bargain, implied if not expressed, 
and no man ought to dodge it. Humor 'em, play 
horse and frolic with 'em, wash 'em, undress 'em, tell 
'em stories about Jack and the bean stalk, and what 
you done when you was a little boy; scratch their 
backs and put 'em to bed, and if they can't sleep, get 
up with 'em away in the night, and nod around in 
your night-gown until they can. Let them trot after 
you a heap in week days and all day of a Sunday, 
and don't try to shirk off the trouble and the respon- 
sibility on the good woman who bore 'em. Solomon 
says: "Children are the chief end of man, and the 
glory of his declining years," and raisin' of 'em is 
the biggest business I know of in this life, and the 
most responsible in the life to come. 

When a man begins to get along in years he grad- 
ually changes from being a king in his family to a 
patriarch. He is more tender and kind to his off- 
spring, and instead of ruling them, the first thing he 
knows they are ruling him. My youngest children 
and my grandchildren just run over me now, and it 
takes more than half my time to keep up with 'em, 
and find out where they are and what they are doing. 



208 ■ Bill Arp. 

It rains most every day, and the weeds and grass are 
always wet, and the children and the dogs track m id 
all over the house. We can't keep 'em in and we 
can't keep 'em out. The boys have got traps set in 
the swamp, and are obliged to go to 'em every fif- 
teen minutes, and if they catch a bird it's as big 
a thing as killin' an elefant. They built a brick fur- 
nace in the back yard, and have been cookin' on it 
for two days, bakin' hoe-cakes, and fryin' eggs, and 
boilin' coffee, and their afflicted mother has mighty 
near surrendered; for she can't keep a skillet, nor a 
spoon, nor a knife, nor a plate in the kitchen, and so 
she tried to kick the furnace over, and now goes about 
limp in' with a sore toe. Some of the older ones have 
found a chalk quarry in a ditch, and taken a notion 
to drawin' and sculpture, and nmde pictures of dogs 
and chickens and snakes all around the house on the 
outside; and while the good mother was cookin' the 
two youngest ones chalked over the inside as good as 
they could. The mantel-piece, and jams, and doors, 
and bedsteads and sewin' machine, and window-glass 
were all ring-streaked and striked, and as I couldent 
do justice to the subject myself, I waited for rein- 
forcements. "When the maternal ancestor appeared, 
I was a peepin' through the crack of the door. She 
paused upon the threshold like an actor playing high 
tragedy in a theater. ''Merciful fathers!" then a 
long and solemn pause. "Y^^as there ever such a set 
upon the face of the earth? What shall I do? Ain't 
it enough to run anybody distracted? Here I have 



I 



Bill Arp. 209 

worked and worked to make this old house look decent, 
and now look at it ! I 've a good mind to wring your 
little necks for you. Did ever a mother have such a 
time as I have — can't leave me one minit that they 
ain't into mischief, and it's been the same thing over 
and over and over with all of 'em for the last twenty- 
nine years. I'd rather been an old maid a thousand 
times over. I wish there wasn't a child in the world 
— yes, I do!" (Looks at 'em mournfully for a min- 
ute.) ''Come here, Jessie, you little pale-faced dar- 
ling. Mamma ain't mad with you ; no, you're just the 
sweetest thing in the world; and poor little Carl's 
broken finger makes my heart ache every time I look 
at it. He did have the sweetest little hand before that 
boy mashed it all to pieces with his maul; and there's 
that great scar on his head, where the brick fell on 
him, and another over his eye, where he fell on the 
hatchet. I wonder if I ever will raise you poor little 
things; you look like little orphans; take your chalk 
and mark some more, if you want to. ' ' "When I came 
in she was a help in' 'em make a bob-tail dog on the 
closet door. "I've found your old tom cat," said I; 
''Carl had him fastened up in that nail keg that's got 
a hen's nest in it." "Why, Carl, what upon earth 
did you put the cat in there for?" "Why, mamma, 
he's a settin', and I wanted him to lay some little 
kittens. Me and Jessie wants some kittens. ' ' 

These little chaps ride the horses and colts over 
the meadow and pasture, and make the sheep jump 
the big branch, and they go in a washing two or three 

(8) 



210 Bill Arp. 

times a day, and they climb the grape arbor and the 
apple trees and stuff their craws full of fruit and 
trash, and they can tell whether a watermelon is ripe 
or green, for they plug it to see. And every one of 
'em has got a sling shot and my pigeons are always 
on the wing, and the other day I found one of the fin- 
est young pullets laying dead with a hole in her side, 
and all the satisfaction I can get is I dident mean 
to do it, or I won't do it any more, or I dident do it 
at all. Jesso. It's most astonishing how the little 
rascals can shoot with their slings, and now I don't 
believe it was a miracle at all that made David plump 
old Goliah in the forehead, for these boys can plump 
a jaybird now at forty yards, and we have had to take 
all their weapons away to protect the birds and 
poultry. Sometimes I get mad and rip up and 
around like I was going to do something desperate, 
but Mrs. Arp comes a-slipping along and begins to tell 
how they dident mean any harm, and they are just 
like all other boys, and wants to know if I dident 
do them sort of things when I was a boy. Well, that's 
a fact — I did — and I got a lickin' for it, too. You 
see, I was one of the oldest boys, and they always 
catch it, but the youngest one never gets a lickin', for 
by the time he comes along the old man has mellowed 
down and wants a pet. The older children have mar- 
ried and gone, and the old folks feel sorter like thej^ 
have been throwed off for somebody no kin to 'em, 
and so they twine around those that are left all the 
closer; but by-and-by they grow up, too, and leave 



Bill Arp. 211 

them, and it's pitiful to see the good old couple be- 
reft of their children and living alone in their glory. 
Then is the time that grandchildren find a welcome 
in the old family homestead, for as Solomon saith, 
the glory of an old man is his children's children. 
Then is the time that the little chaps of the second and 
third generation love to escape from their well-ruled 
home and for awhile find refuge and freedom and 
frolic at grandpa's. A child without a grandma and 
a grandpa can never have its share of happiness. I 'm 
sorry for 'em. Blessings on the good old people, the 
venerable grand-parents of the land, the people with 
good old honest ways and simple habits and limited 
desires, who indulge in no folly, who hanker after no 
big thing, but live along serene and covet nothing 
but the happiness of their children and their child- 
ren's children. I said to a good old mother not long 
ago: ''Well, I hear that Anna is to be married." 
"Yes, sir," said she, smiling sorrowfully, "I don't 
know what I will do. The last daughter I've got is 
going to leave me. I've nursed her and petted her 
all her life, and I kinder thought she was mine and 
would always be mine, but she's run off after a feller 
she's no kin to in the world, and who never did do 
a thing for her but give her a ring and a book or 
two and a little French candy now and then, and it 
does look so strange and unreasonable. I couldent 
stand it at all if — if I hadent done the same thing 
myself a long time ago," and she kept knitting away 
with a smile and a tear upon her motherly face. 



212 Bill Arp. 

But I am not going to slander these little chaps that 
keep us so busy looking after them, for there is no 
meanness in their mischief, and if they take liberties 
it is because we let 'em. Mrs. Arp says they are 
just too sweet to live, and is always narrating some of 
their smart sayings. Well, they are mighty smart, 
for they know exactly how to get everything and do 
everything they want, for they know how to manage 
her, and they know that she manages me, and that 
settles it. A man is the head of the house about some 
things, and about some other things he is only next 
to head, if he ain't foot. A man can punish his 
children, but it's always advisable to make an expla- 
nation in due time and let his wife know what he did 
it for, because you see they are her children shore 
enough, and she knows and feels it. The pain and 
trouble, the nursing and night watching have all been 
hers. The washing and dressing, and mending, and 
patching — tieing up fingers and toes, and sympathiz- 
ing with 'em in all their great big little troubles, all 
falls to her while the father is tending to his farm, 
or his store, or his office, or friends, or maybe to his 
billiard table. When a woman says "this is my 
child, ' ' it carries more weight and more meaning than 
when a man says it, and I've not got much respect 
for a law that will give the man the preference of 
ownership just because he is a man. I remember 
when I was a boy, a sad, pretty woman taught school 
in our town, and she had a sweet little girl about 
eight years old, and one day a man came there for 



Bill Arp. 213 

the child and brought a lawyer with him, and the 
mother was almost distracted, and all of us boys — 
big and little — got rocks and sticks and thrash poles 
and hid the little girl up in the cupalo, and when 
the sheriff came we attacked him like killing snakes 
or fighting yaller jackets, and we run him off, and 
when he came back with more help, we run 'em all 
off, and the man never got his child, and I can say 
now that the soldiers who whipped the Yankees at 
Bull Run were not half so proud of their victory as 
we were, though I found out afterwards that the 
sheriff was willing to be whipped, for he was on the 
side of the mother and didn't want to find the child 
nohow. But the world is getting kinder than it used 
to be — kinder to women and to the poor and depend- 
ent, and kinder to brutes. Away up in New England 
they used to drown women for being witches, but they 
don't now. Well, they do bewitch a man powerfully 
sometimes, that's a fact, but if any drowning is done 
he drowns himself because he can't get the woman he 
wants and live under her witching all the time. But 
a man is still the head of the house and always will 
be, I reckon, for it's according to Scripture. He has 
got a natural right to run the machine and keep up 
the supplies, and if he always has money when the 
good wife wants it and doesn't wait for her to ask 
for it but makes her take it as a favor to him, then 
he is a successful husband and peace reigns supreme. 
Jesso. When there is money in the till a man can sit 



214 Bill Arp. 

in his piazza with his feet on the banisters and smoke 
the pipe of peace. A woman never loves money for 
its uses. She never hoards it or hides it away like 
a man — and when I used to be a merchant I thought 
there was no goodlier combination in all nature than 
a new stock of dry goods and a pretty woman in the 
store Avith a well filled purse in her pocket. Jesso. 



Bill Arp. 215 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



Making Sausage. 

Hog killing is over at last. We had about made 
up our minds to kill one at a time as we needed them 
and not cure any for bacon, but the weather got right 
and the moon was on the increase, and so we slayed 
them. I don't care anything about the moon myself, 
but there are some old family superstitions that the 
meat will shrink in the pot if the moon is on the 
wane when you kill it. The new moon is quite level 
this time, which is a sure sign that it will rain a good 
deal this month, or that it won't. We have pretty 
well disposed of this greasy business. The little boys 
had a good time frying liver on the hot rocks and 
roasting tails in the ashes and blowing up balloons, 
and now if we had a few darkies to cook up the heads 
and clean the feet and fix up the skins for sausages 
and make a nice lot of souse, we could live like princes, 
but it's troublesome work and costs more than it 
comes to if we have to do it ourselves. 

I am very fond of sausage — home-made sausage 
such as Mrs. Arp knows how to make, and so she deli- 
cately informed me that the meat was all chopped and 
ready for the machine, and said something about my 
everyday clothes and one of her old aprons. She fur- 
ther remarked that when it was all ground up she 



216 Bill Arp. 

would come down and show me liow much salt and 
pepper and sage to put in and how to mix it all up 
together. Well, I didn't mind the machine business 
at all, but I remembered seeing her work mighty hard 
over that mixing of the salt and pepper and sage, and 
frying a little mess on the stove and tasting it, and 
then putting in more salt and work it over again, and 
cooking another mess and tasting it again, and then 
putting in more pepper and more sage, and after the 
job was all over, heard her declare there wasn't 
enough of anything in it, and so I conjured up a bran 
new idea, and sprinkled about a hatful of salt and 
a quart of black pepper and a pint of cayenne and 
all the sage that was on the premises all over the 
meat before I ground it. Then I put it through the 
machine and cooked and tasted it myself. Well, it 
was a litle hot — that's a fact — and a little salty, and 
a right smart sagey, but it was good, and a little of 
it satisfied a body quicker than a good deal of the 
ordinary kind, and the new plan saved a power of 
mixing. I took a nice little cake of it up to Mrs. Arp 
to try, which she did with some surprise and mis- 
giving. By the time she had sneezed four times and 
coughed the plate out of her lap, she quietly asked 
me if it was all like that. ''All," said I, solemnly. 
"Do you like it?" said she. "Pretty well, I think," 
said I ; "I wanted to save you trouble, and maybe I 've 
got it a leetle too strong. ' ' She never replied, but the 
next day she made up the little cloth bags and stuffed 
'em and hung 'em all overhead in the kitchen, and re- 



Bill Arp. 217 

marked as she left, "Now, children, that's your pa's 
sausage. It's a pity he hadn't stayed away another 
day." 

Mrs. Arp has been mighty busy, as usual — always a 
working, for the house will get dirty, and the child- 
ren 's clothes will wear out, and it 's clean up and sew, 
and patch, and darn, and sew on buttons; and it's the 
same old thing day after day and week after week; 
and the little chaps have to be watched all day and 
washed every night; and their shoe strings get in a 
hard knot, and it's a worry to get it undone. They 
wander over the hill and play in the branch, or frolic 
in the barn loft, or slip off to Cobe 's ; and I can hear 
a sweet motherly voice about forty times a day, as she 
steps to the door and calls: "Carl — you Carl! Jes- 
sie, Jessie-e-e ! Where upon earth have those children 
gone to ? I will just have to tie the little wretches, or 
put a block and chain to them. ' ' One day she caught 
me laughing at her anxiety, and I knew she didn't 
like it, for she said: "Never mind, William, some of 
these days those children will come home drowned in 
the creek, or carried off by the gypsies, and you won't 
laugh then." WTien she succeeds in getting them 
home she places her arms akimbo, and with a look of 
unutterable despair gazes at them and exclaims : 
"Merciful fathers! Did a poor mother ever have 
such children? — feet right wet, shoes all muddy; and 
there — another hole in the knee of his pants — and Jes- 
sie has torn her apron nearly off of her. Bring me 
a switch. I will not stand it, for it's sew and patch 



218 Bill Arp. 

and worry forever. I could hardly put those shoes 
on you this morning, for they have been wet and dried, 
and wet and dried until they are as hard as boards, 
and your pa won't get you any new ones; and your 
stockings are worn out and wet besides; and the dip- 
theria is all over the country, and it's a wonder you 
don't take it and die. Come in to the fire, you poor 
little orphans, and warm your feet. You may pop 
some corn, and here's some apples for you. Don't 
you want some dinner, my darlings?" 

The poet hath said that "s, baby in the house is a 
well spring of pleasure." There is a bran new one 
here now, the first in eight years, and it has raised 
a powerful commotion. It's not our baby, exactly, 
but it's in the line of descent, and Mrs. Arp takes 
on over it all the same as she used to when she was 
regularly in the business. I thought maybe she had 
forgotten how to nurse 'em and talk to 'em, but she 
is singing the same old familiar songs that have 
sweetened the dreams of half a score, and she blesses 
the little eyes and the sweet little mouth and uses 
the same infantile language that nobody but babies 
understand. For she says, ''tum here to its dand- 
mudder," and "bess its 'ittle heart," and talks about 
its sweet little footsy-tootsies, and holds it up to the 
window to see the wagons go by and the wheels going 
rouny-pouny, and now my liberty is curtailed, for as 
I go stamping around with my heavy farm shoes she 
shakes her ominous finger at me just like she used to, 
and says, ' ' Don 't you see the baby is asleep ? ' ' And 
so I have to tip-toe around, and ever and anon she 



Bill Arp. 219 

wants a little fire, or some hot water, or some catnip, 
for the baby is a-crying and shorely has got the colic. 
The doors have to be shut now for fear of a draft 
of air on the baby, and a little hole in the window 
pane about as big as a dime had to be patched, and 
I have to hunt up a passel of kinlings every night and 
put 'em where they will be handy, and they have 
sent me off to another room where the baby can 't hear 
me snore ; and all things considered the baby is run 
ning the machine, and the well spring of pleasure is 
the center of space. A grandmother is a wonderful 
help and a great comfort at such a time as this, for 
what does a young mother, with her first child, know 
about colic and thrash, and hives and hiccups, and it 
takes a good deal of faith to dose 'em with sut tea 
and catnip, and lime water, and paregoric, and sooth- 
ing syrup, and sometimes with all these the child gets 
worse, and if it gets better I've always had a curiosity 
to know which remedy it w^as that did the work. 
Children born of healthy parents can stand a power 
of medicine and get over it, for after the cry comes 
the sleep, and sleep is a wonderful restorer. Rock 
'em awhile in the cradle, then take 'em up and jolt 
'em a little on the knee and then turn 'em over and 
jolt 'em on the other side, and then give 'em .some 
sugar in a rag, and after awhile they will go to sleep 
and let the poor mother rest. There is no patent on 
this business, no way of raising 'em all the same way, 
but it is trouble, trouble from the start, and nobody 
but a mother knows how much trouble it is. A man 



220 Bill Arp. 

ought to be mighty good just for his mother's sake, 
if nothing else, for there is no toil or trial like nurs- 
ing and caring for a little child, and there is no grief 
so great as a mother's if all her care and anxiety is 
wasted on an ungrateful child. 

It looks like we will be obleeged to import a doc- 
tor in the settlement. Fact is we are obleeged to have 
a doctor — not that one is needed at all, but just to 
quiet the female hysterieks when any little thing hap- 
pens. Since we've lived here I've had to send five 
miles on the run for a doctor two times just to keep 
down the family hysterieks. Both times the patient 
recovered before the doctor arrived, but then it was 
such a comfort to have him around, and hear him say 
it is all right, and see him measure out a little yaller 
powder. It was only day before yesterday that Ralph 
put our little Carl on the old mare and was leading 
her along at the rate of half a mile an hour, when 
the little chap took a notion to fall off, and as soon 
as the wind of it got to headquarters there was a wild 
female rush to the scene of great disaster. ' ' Oh mer- 
cy, oh the dear child. He's killed. I know he's 
killed, poor little darling. Oh my child, my child. 
Ralph, I'll whip you for this if I live. Oh my prec- 
ious. Just look at that place on his little head. 
Children, where is your pa? Send for the doctor. 
Oh mercy — what did we ever move out here for, five 
miles from a doctor?" I was mighty busy planting 
peas and so forth in my garden, but I snuffed the 
commotion in the air, and in a few moments found 



Bill Arp. 221 

'em all bringing the boy to the house, and Mrs. Arp 
and the girls talked so fast and took on so I couldent 
find out what had happened to him. Finally I got 
the bottom facts from Ralph, the reckless — the butt 
end of all complaints — the promise of a thousand 
whippings with nary one performed. I looked in 
vain for wounds and bruises and dislocations. "The 
boy is not seriously hurt/' said I — "he is badly 
scared and you are making him worse by all this 
commotion — what he wants is rest and sleep." 

"Oh, never," said my wife, "it won't do to let 
him sleep — when the brain is hurt sleep is the very 
worst thing — it brings on coma and coma is next 
thing to death — we must not let him sleep." I was 
pretty well aroused by this time and said, "He shall 
sleep," and turned everybody out but Mrs. Arp, and 
she acquiesced in my determination and the boy slept. 
He slept all night and Mrs. Arp sat beside the bed 
and watched. He was all right in the morning and 
ready for another ride. 



222 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



The Old Trunk. 

The old trunk was open. Away down in its mys- 
terious recesses Mrs. Arp was searching for something, 
and as I sat in the other corner with my little table 
and pen I watched her as she laid the ancient relics 
on a chair and unfolded first one and then another 
and looked at them so earnestly, and then folded them 
up again. "What are you hunting for, my dear?" 
said I. "Oh, nothing much," said she; "I was just 
looking over these little dresses to see if there was 
anything that would do for the little grandchildren. 
Here is a pretty dress. That dress cost me many a 
careful stitch. All these plaits were made by my 
hand, my own hand. There is very little such work 
done now, for we had no sewing machines then, and 
it took a long, long time. This embroidery was 
beautiful then, and it is pretty yet. Do you remem- 
ber when the first daguerrean came to our town to 
take pictures? Well, Hattie wore this dress when 
her picture was taken, and I thought she was the 
sweetest little thing in the world, and so did you, and 
she was. Since then we have had ambrotypes, and 
photographs and porcelain pictures, and I don't know 
what all; but that little daguerreotype gave me more 
pleasure than anything since, and it is pretty now. 



Bill Arp. 223 

Let me see — that was twenty-five years ago, and now 
I think this same dress will look right pretty on Hat- 
tie's child. And here is one that our first boy was 
christened in, and there is no machine work about it, 
either. That was more than thirty years ago, and 
now there are four grandchildren at his house, and 
three more at another one's house, and I don't know 
what will become of the poor little things, but I 
reckon the Lord will provide for them. And here is 
a little garment that Jennie made. Poor Jennie, she 
had a troubled life; but she is in heaven now, and 
I'll save this for Pet. She will prize it because her 
mother made it. And here is a piece of my wedding 
dress — do you remember it? I know you said then 
that I looked an angel in it, but my wings have 
dropped off long ago, and now I'm only a poor old 
woman, a faded flower, an overworked mother, ten 
living children and three more up yonder, and I will 
be there, too, I hope, before long, for I'm getting 
tired, very tired, and it seems to me I would like to 
be nursed, nursed by my mother, and petted like she 
used to pet me in the long, long ago. And here is a 
pair of little baby shoes, and the little darling who 
wore them is in the grave, but he is better off now, 
and I wouldent call him back if I could. Sometimes 
I want to feel sad, and I rummage over these old 
things. There is not much here now, for every little 
while I have to get out something to mend with or 
patch or make over again. I wish you would go and 
see what Carl and Jessie are doing; down at the 



224 Bill Arp. 

branch, I reckon, and feet all wet, and they have both 
got dreadful colds. I can't keep them away from 
that branch." 

"Dident you play in the branch, my dear, when 
you were a child?" said I. "Yes," said she, mourn- 
fully, "but nothing couldent hurt me then; we were 
not raised so delicate in those days. You know I used 
to ride to the plantation, twelve miles, and back again 
in a day and bring a bag of fruit on the horn of 
the saddle, but the girls couldent do it now. They 
can go to a party in a buggy and dance half the night, 
but that is all excitement, and they are not fit for 
anything the next day. We dident have any dances 
— hardly ever— we went to the country wedding 
sometimes. You remember we went to James Dun- 
lap 's wedding, when he married Rebecca Sammons. 
That was a big frolic — an old-fashioned frolic. Ev- 
erybody was there from all the naborhood, and there 
were more turkeys and roast pig and cake than I ever 
saw, and we played everything we could think of. 
Rebecca was pretty then, but, poor woman — she has 
had a thousand children, too, just like myself, and 
I reckon she is faded, too, and tired." "But Jim 
Dunlap hasn't faded," said I. "I see him when I 
go to Atlanta, and he is big and fat and merry — 
looks a little like old David Davis." 

"Oh, yes, of course he does," said Mrs. Arp. "The 
men don't know anything about care and anxiety and 
sleepless nights. It's a wonder to me they die at all." 
"But I have helped you all I could, my dear," said 



Bill Arp. 225 

I, ''and you see it's telling on me. Look at these 
silver hairs, and these wrinkles and crows-feet, and 
my back hurts ever and anon, and this rainy, bad 
weather gives me rheumatism, but you haven't a gray 
hair and hardly a seam on your alabaster forehead. 
Why, you will outlive me, too, and maybe there will 
be a rich widower stepping around here in my shoes, 
and you will have a fine carriage and a pair of beauti- 
ful bay horses, and — " 

"William, I told you to go after Carl and Jessie." 

"If Vanderbilt's wife should die and he could acci- 
dentally see you," said I, "after I'm gone, there's 
no telling — " 

"Well, go along now and find the children, and 
when you come back I'll listen to your foolishness. 
I'm not going to let you die if I can help it, for I 
don't know what would become of us all. Yes, you 
have helped me, I know, and been a great comfort 
and did the best you could — most of the time; yes, 
most of the time — and I might have done worse, and 
you must nurse me now and pet me, for I am getting 
childish." "And you must pet me, too," said I. 
"Oh, of course I will," said she; "am I not always 
petting you ? Now go along after the children before 
we both get to crying and have a scene; and I wish 
you would see if the buff cochin hens have hatched in 
the hen house." "She has been setting about four- 
teen weeks," said I, "but she is getting old, and these 
old mothers are slow, mighty slow." 

I went after the children, and sure enough they 



226 Bill Arp. 

were fishing in the spring branch, and their shoos 
were wet and muddy, and they were bare-headed, and 
I marched them np tenderly, and Mrs. Arp set them 
down by the fire and dried their shoes, and got them 
some more stockings, and then opened their little 
morning school. Plow patiently these old-fashioned 
mothers work and worry over the little things of 
domestic life. Day after day, and night after night, 
they labor and watch and watch and v/ait, while the 
fathers are contriving some big thing to keep up the 
family supplies. Parents are very much like chick- 
ens. The old hen will set and set and starve, and 
when the brood comes will go scratching for worms 
and bugs as hard as she can and be always clucking 
and looking out for hawks, but the old rooster v/ill 
strut around and notice the little chickens with a 
paternal pride, and when he scratches up a bug makes 
a big fuss over it and calls them with a flourish, and 
eats it himself just before they get there. 

That was a mighty good talk in your last Sunday's 
paper about sleep, and letting folks sleep until nature 
waked 'em. He was a smart doctor who said all that, 
and he said it well, but I couldent help thinking what 
would become of the babies if the mothers dident wake 
until they had got sleep enough. There are no regular 
hours for them. Job speaketh of the dark watches of 
the night when deep sleep falleth upon a man, but it 
don't fall upon a weary mother with a fretful child 
when it is cutting its front teeth and wants to nurse 
the livelong night. When she is sleeping she is awake, 



Bill Arp. 227 

and when she is waking she is half asleep, and the 
morning brings no rest or refreshment; and I was 
thinking, too, of what would become of the farm if 
the boys were not waked up early in the morning. 
Not many boys will wake up themselves, and they 
must be called, and in course of time have habits of 
waking forced upon 'em. A family that sleeps late 
will always be behind with farm work. I do not be- 
lieve in getting up before day and eating breakfast 
by candle light, but I do believe in early rising. I 
don't know how long my children would sleep if I 
did not call 'em, for I never tried it; but I don't call 
Mrs. Arp, of course I don't, though she says I had 
just as well, for I stamp around and slam the doors 
and whistle and sing until there is no more sleep for 
her. She wants me to build her a little house away 
off in the garden, where she can sleep enough to make 
up for lost time, and be always calm and serene, and 
I think I will. 



228 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



On the Old Times, Alexander Stephens, Etc. 

Two cents — only two cents. When I look at a post- 
age stamp it carries me away back — back to tlie time 
when my father was postmaster and I was clerk and 
had to make up the mails in a country town. The 
difference between now and then shows that the 
world's progress in this department is hardly ex- 
celled in any other branch of improvement. We 
couldn't bear to be set back again in the old ways 
that our fathers thought were pretty good. There 
were no stamps and no envelopes and no mucilage. 
The paper was folded up like a thumb-paper, and one 
side slipped in the other end and sealed with a wrap- 
per. The little school-boys, you know, had to use 
thumb-papers in their spelling books to keep them 
clean where their dirty hands kept the pages open. 
Girls didn 't have to use them, for they were nicer and 
kept their hands clean, and didn't wear out the leaves 
by the friction of their fingers. Boys are rough things 
anyhow, and I don't see what a nice, sweet, pretty 
girl wants with one of 'em. Girls, they say, are 
made of sugar and spice and all that's nice, but boys 
are made of snaps and snails and puppy dogs' tails. 
Josephus says that when the Queen of Sheba was test- 
ing Solomon's wisdom, she had fifty boys and fifty 



Bill Arp. ' 229 

girls all dressed alike in girls' clothes and seated 
around a big room, and asked the king to pick out 
the boys from the girls ; and he called for a basin of 
water and had it carried around to each one and told 
them to wash their hands. The girls all rolled up 
their sleeves a little bit, the boys just sloshed their 
hands in any way, and got water all over their aprons, 
and so the king spotted every mother's son of them. 

The postage used to be regulated by the distance 
that Uncle Sam carried the letters. It was 12 1-2 cents 
anywhere in the state, and 18 3-4 cents to Charleston, 
and 25 cents to New York. It was never prepaid. A 
man could afflict another with a pistareen letter that 
wasent worth five cents. A pistareen, you know, was 
18 3-4 cents — that is a sevenpence and a thrip. "We 
had no dimes or half dimes. The dollars was cut up 
into eighths instead of tenths. When a countryman 
called for letters and got one, he would look at it some 
time and turn it over and meditate before he paid for 
it, and very often they would say, ''where did this 
letter come from?" Well, I would say, for instance, 
"it came from Dahlonega — don't you see Dahlonega 
written up on the corner ? ' ' Then he would say, ' ' well, 
I reckon it's from Dick, my brother Dick. He is up 
there diggin' gold. Don't you reckon it's from Dick?" 
"I reckon it is," said I. "Why don't you open it and 
see. ' ' When he got home that letter would be an event 
in the family, and perhaps it would take them half 
an hour to wade through it and make out its contents. 
Nine out of ten of those country letters began, ' ' I take 



230 Bill Arp. 

my pen in hand to let you know that I am well, and 
hope these few lines will find you enjoying the same 
blessing. ' ' My father kept store, and his country cus- 
tomers used to ask him to write their letters for them, 
and he always sent them to me, and most of them 
told me to begin their letters that way. There was not 
more than one in five that could write, but they were 
good, clever, honest people and paid their debts, but 
they hardly ever paid up in full at the end of the year, 
and so they gave their notes for the balance and made 
their mark. My father used to say that he had known 
cases where a man swore off his written signature, but 
he never knew a man to deny his mark. Our big 
northern mail used to come in a stage from Madison 
twice a week, and I used to think the sound of the 
stage-horn, as the stage came over the hill, was one of 
the sublimest things in the world, and I thought that 
if ever I got to be a man I would be a stage-driver if 
I could. Well, I came pretty near it, for my father 
had hired a man to ride the mail to Roswell and back 
twice a week, and the man got sick and so my father 
put me on a dromedary of a horse and the mail in 
some saddle-bags behind me, and I had to make the 
forty-eight miles in a day and kept it up all the win- 
ter. I liked to have frozen several times, and had to 
be lifted off the horse when I got home, and it nearly 
broke my mother's heart, but I was getting a dollar a 
trip and it was my money, and so I wouldn 't back out. 
The old women on the route used to crowd me with 
their little commissions and get me to bring them 



Bill Arp. 231 

pepper, or copperas, or blueing, or pins and needles, or 
get me to take along some socks and sell them, and so I 
made friends and acquaintances all the way. The first 
trip I made, an old woman hailed me and said, "Are 
you a mail boy?" "Why, yes, mam," said I. "You 
dident think I was a female boy, did you ? " I thought 
that was smart, but it wasent very civil, and as she 
turned her back on me I heard her say, "I'll bet he's 
a little stuck up town boy. ' ' 

My father was postmaster for nearly thirty years. 
It didn't pay more than about $200 a year, but it 
made his store more of a public place. He didn't 
know that anybody else hankered after it or Avas try- 
ing to get it, but all of a sudden he got his orders to 
turn over the office to another man, an old line Whig 
and a competitor in business. It mortified him very 
much and made us all mad, for there was no fault 
found with his management, and he never took much 
interest in politics but voted for the man he liked the 
best Avhether he was a Whig or a Democrat. When he 
found that Alex. Stephens had it done he wasent a 
Stephens man any more, and I grew up with an idea 
Mr. Stephens was a political fraud. I dident under- 
stand the science of politics as well as I do now. I 
told Mr. Stephens about it one night at Milledgeville 
when we were all in a good humor and were talking 
about old times of Whigs and Democrats; he smiled 
and said, "yes, we had to do those things, and some- 
times they were very disagreeable. ' ' I will never for- 
get that night 's talk. It was during the session of the 



232 Bill Arp. 

first legislature after the war. Jim Waddell took me 
to Mr. Stephens ' room to hear him talk, and there was 
Mr. Jenkins and Tom Hardeman and Benning Moore 
and Beverly Thornton and Peter Strozier and Dr. 
Ridley and some others, and everybody was in a good 
humor, and Mr. Stephens was reclining on his bed and 
told anecdote after anecdote about the old Whigs and 
how he met the Democrats on the stump and what they 
said and what he said, and he most always got the 
advantage and carried the crowd with him. I was 
very much fascinated with his conversation, but 
couldent help being reminded of a circumstance that 
transpired some years before in the town of Calhoun. 
The Whigs of Gordon county had sent for Mr. Steph- 
ens to come up and make a speech and rally the boys 
for the next election, for Gordon was pretty equally 
balanced between Whigs and Democrats; the Whigs 
wanted a big revival. So Aleck accepted, and when 
the day came the crowd was tremendous. The Dem- 
ocrats had tried to get Howell Cobb and Herschel 
Johnson to come up and reply to Aleck, hat they 
couldent come, and so little Aleck had it all his own 
way. In the meantime the Democratic boys had 
hunted up A. M. Russell and got his promise to reply 
to Mr. Stephens. Russell was an original genius. 
He was gifted in language, gifted in imagination, 
gifted in cheek, gifted in lying, and was utterly re- 
gardless of consequences. 

Mr. Stephens made a splendid speech. He ar- 
raigned the Democracy and held them up to ridicule, 



Bill Arp. 233 

and when he got through the Yv^higs were more than 
satisfied; and Mr. Stephens was satisfied, too — he 
came down from the stand and was receiving the con- 
gratulations of his friends, when suddenly Russell 
mounted the rostrum and, rapping on the plank in 
front of him, screamed out in one unearthly yell: 
' ' Fellow citizens ! ' ' Everybody knew him, and every- 
body wanted to hear him, and hushed into silence. 
After a sentence or two Mr. Stephens was attracted 
to him, and with curious and astonished interest in- 
quired, "Who is that man?" After Russell had paid 
an eloquent tribute to the glorious old Democratic 
party, and given it credit for every good thing that 
had been done since the fall of Adam, he then turned 
to Mr. Stephens, and, with a sneering scorn, said: 
"And what have you and your party been doing and 
trying to do? What made you vote away the public 
lands so that Yankees and furriners could get 'em and 
our people couldent? What made you vote for high 
tariff on sugar and coffee and raise the price so that 
our poor people couldent buy it?" Mr. Stephens 
arose, excited and irritated, and stretching his long 
arm to the audience, screamed out : "I never did 
it, my fellow citizens — I deny the fact and call upon 
the gentleman for his proof." With the utmost self- 
possession, Russell said, "You do — you call for the 
proof. Sir, if I was to go 200 miles from home to 
make a speech I would carry my proof with me. I 
wouldent be vain enough to go without it; but, sir, I 
am at home — these people know me — they raised me, 



234 Bill Arp. 

and when I assert a thing they believe me. You are 
the man to bring the proof." The crowd shouted 
and hiughed as tumultously as they had done for Mr. 
Stephens, and he sat down disgusted. Russell con- 
tinued : ' ' And what was your motive when you were 
a member of the legislature in voting for a law that 
prohibited a man from voting unless he was worth 
$500? Answer me that while you are here face to 
face with these humble citizens of Gordon county. 
At this Mr. Stephens rose again, furious with indig- 
nation, and screamed: ''It is false, sir, it is false; 
I deny the fact." 

"You do," said Russell, scornfully, "I supposed 
you would — you deny the fact. That is just what you 
have been doing for twenty years — going about over 
the country denying facts. ' ' And the crowd went wild 
with merriment, for even the "Whigs couldn't help 
joining in the fun. Mr. Stephens turned to his com- 
panions and said with a tone of despair, "Let us 
go to the hotel;" and they went. 

I thought of all this while Mr. Stephens was telling 
me of his triumphs over veteran foes, and so when 
he came to a pause I timidly said: "Mr. Stephens, 
did you ever encounter a man by the name of Russell 
up at Calhoun?" 

With a merry glistening of his wonderful eyes he 
straightened up and said: "I did, I did, yes, I did. 
I will never forget that man. He got me completely. 
If I had known him I would not have said a word 
in reply, but I dident know him. He cured me of 



Bill Arp. 235 

one expression. I frequently used to emphasize my 
denial of lies and slander, and that was to say, 'I 
deny the fact.' I had never thought of its gram- 
matical absurdity, but that man Russell taught me 
and I quit it. I think he had the most wonderful 
flow of language and lies of any man I ever met." 
Mr. Stephens then made a pretty fair recital of his 
encounter and his "utter defeat," as he expressed it, 
all of which we enjoyed. Where are they now? Old 
Father Time has cut them all down but three, Harde- 
man and Thornton and myself are here, but all the 
rest of that bright, intelligent crowd are gone. It 
looks like most everybody is dead. If they are not 
they will be before long, and another set will be in 
their places and have their jokes and flash their wit 
and merriment all the same. 



236 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



Sticking to the Old. 

As the world grows older mankind becomes more 
liberal in opinion and less wedded to prejudice and 
superstition. We rub against one another so closely 
nowadays, and talk so much and read so much that 
our conceit is weakening, and we think more and 
think deeper than we used to, and we are more ready 
to absorb knowledge. A man don't dare nowadays 
to say anything is impossible, for many impossibili- 
ties have already been performed, and we now live in 
a state of anxious expectation as to what big thing 
will come next. Still, there are some folks who stub- 
bornly refuse to fall into line, and they stand by the 
old landmarks. Not long ago I passed by a black- 
smith shop away off in the country, and there was a 
horse doctor cutting the hooks out of a horse's eyes 
to keep him from going blind, and he got very indig- 
nant when I told him that the horse books were all 
against it, and said it ought to be prohibited by law. 
I heard an old hardshell arguing against this idea 
that the world turned over every day, and he declared 
it was against common sense and Scripture, and he 
wouldent let his children go to school to learn any 
such nonsense, for he knowed that the water would 
all spill out if you turned it upside down, and the 



Bill Arp. 237 

Scripters said that Joshua commanded the sun to 
stand still, and it stood still; and he asked me how 
I was going to get over the like of that. I saw that 
the crowd was against me, and so I replied : ' ' Jesso. 
Jesso, my friend. And right then the wonderful 
change took place. The sun used to go around the 
earth, of course, but Joshua stopped it and he never 
set it to going again, and it is there yet." 

This weakened the old man a little and unsettled 
the crowd, and I got away from there prematurely for 
fear the old man would send for his Bible. Answer 
a fool according to his folly is a good way sometimes. 
Dr. Harden told me about his father raising a rumpus 
a long time ago in Watkinsville by asserting that all 
horses had botts in 'em, and it was accordin ' to nature 
and the botts were not a disease, and a horse never 
died on account of 'em. Old man Moore kept the 
tavern there, and he swore that Harden was a luniack, 
and so one day when they were playing checkers in 
the tavern a storm came up and a terrible crash was 
heard, and pretty soon a darkey came running in the 
house and told his master the lightning had struck 
his iron grey horse and killed him. Old man Moore 
thought as much of that horse as he did of his wife, 
and the crowd all hurried out to the lot to see him. 
Moore was greatly distressed and used bad language 
about the catastrophe; and after he had subsided a 
little, Harden says he, "Now, Moore, if you say so, 
I'll cut open that horse and show you the botts, and 
I reckon that will settle it." So Moore agreed to it. 



238 Bill Arp. 

and when he was opened, and the botts began to cut 
their way out and worm around, Harden looked at 
Moore with triumphant satisfaction and paused for a 
reply. Moore had his hands crossed behind his back, 
and was gazing intently at the ugly varmints, when 
suddenly he exclaimed, ''Harden, I was powerful 
mad with that lightning for killing old Selim, but 
I ain't now, for if the lightning hadent struck him 
I'll be damned if them infernal botts wouldent have 
killed him in thirty miutes." 

Moore had a big fighting stump-tail dog by the 
name of Katler, and one day a little Italian came 
along with an organ and a monkey, and as the crowd 
g:athered around he asked the man if his monkey 
could fight. "Oh, yes, he fight," said the Italian. 
''Will he fight a dog?" said Moore. "Oh, yes; he 
fight a dog — he whip dog quick," said the Italian. 
Moore pulled out a five dollar bill, and said: "I'll 
bet you this that I've got a dog he can't whip." 
The little fellow covered it with another five and the 
money was handed over to a stakeholder and they 
went through to the back yard, followed by half the 
folks in the little town. There lay the dog on the 
grass asleep, and at the word the little Italian tossed 
the monkey on him. In less than a jiffey the little 
brute had his teeth and his claws fastened like a vise 
in the stump of that dog's tail and was screeching 
like a hyena. The dog gave but one astonished look 
behind as he bounced to his feet and made tracks for 
another country. The monkey held on until Ratler 



Bill Arp. 239 

sprung over a ten-rail fence at the back of the garden, 
when he suddenly quit his hold and sat on the top 
rail, and watched the dog's flight with a chatter of 
perfect satisfaction and danced along the rail with 
delight. The crowd was convulsed. They laughed 
and roared and hollered tumultuously, all but old man 
Moore, whose voice could be heard above all others as 
he stood upon the fence and shouted, "Here, Ratler, 
here, here; here, Ratler, here; here, Ratler, here.'^ 
But Ratler wouldent hear. Ratler rattled on and on, 
across field after field, until he got to the woods and 
was gone from human sight. The Italian shouldered 
his monkey affectionately, and walking up to Moore, 
said: ''Your dog not well to-day; maybe your dog 
gone off to hunt rabbeet. Your dog no like my mon- 
key — he not acquaint. Maybe ven I come again next 
year he come and fight some more. Yen you look for 
heem to come back?" Moore gave up the wager, but 
he asserted solemnly that Ratler would have whipped 
the fight if he hadent have run. ' ' The surprise, gen- 
tlemen, the surprise was what done it, ' ' said he, ' ' for 
that dog has whipped wild eats and a bear and a she 
wolf and every dog in ten miles of Watkinsville. " 
And all that evening and away in the night and 
early the next morning an inviting, mournful voice 
could be heard at the back of the garden calling, 
"Ratler, here; Ratler, here;" and three days after a 
man brought Ratler home, but he had lost his integ- 
rity and never could be induced to fight anything 
more. 



240 Bill Arp. 

Some men never give up a thing, and some give up 
too much. Judge Bleckley says that he is in the 
cautious, credulous state about everything, and just 
lives along serenely and waits for events. He says 
that if a man can hear the voice of a friend from 
New York to Boston by the aid of a telephone, why 
shouldn't all the other senses be aided in like man- 
ner by some invention ; and he hints that he wouldent 
be surprised at an invention that would enable a man 
to kiss his wife across the Atlantic ocean. I don't 
think that follows to reason, for hearing and seeing 
are both for distance, and so is smelling, but feeling 
is a very different thing. Feeling means contact, and 
the closer the contact the more intense the feeling. 
It never was intended to feel afar off, and so I don't 
believe that any good would come of a man kissing 
his wife through a machine a thousand miles long. It 
would be very dangerous, for it might encourage folks 
to be kissing other people's wives, and the machine 
would be kept busy all the time, for there are some 
men who couldent be choked off, and by and by the 
whole world would be kissing one another, and busi- 
ness would be neglected and mankind would come to 
want. 

But I do believe that everything will come that 
ought to come. Nature has a mighty big storehouse, 
and she always unlocks it at the right time. She 
is very economical of her treasures, and keeps 'em 
from us until she sees that we are obliged to have 
'em. Cotton dident come, nor cotton machinery, un- 



Bill Arp. 241 

til the world was bad off for clothing. The sewing 
machine come along just as the poor women were 
about worn out, and Tom Hood had written his sad, 
sweet ''Song of the Shirt." Coal was found when 
wood got scarce in the old world. Railroads and 
steamships were invented as population increased, 
and now we couldent possibly do without 'em. Old 
Peter Cooper said that a million of people would 
perish in New York city in one month if the cars 
were to stop running that long. Then came the tele- 
graph, and now the telephone, and I don't think any 
other very big thing will happen soon, for mankind 
is very comfortable, and don't need it, so let us all 
rest awhile and let Dame Nature rest. She has been 
very kind to her creatures, and we all ought to be 
thankful. 

(9) 



242 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



A Prose Poem on Spring. 

On this pellucid day when the sky is so beautifully 
blue and the sun so warm and cheerful, when the 
jaybirds are chanting their safe return from purga- 
tory, and the crows are cawing over the sprouting 
corn, when the sheep bells tinkle merrily in the mead- 
ow and children and chickens are cackling around, 
it seems like everything in nature was happy and 
everybody ought to be. The darkies are singing to 
the mules in the cotton field and are happier with a 
little than the white folks are with a good deal. The 
darkey never borrows trouble. I wish our race would 
take a few lessons in contentment from 'em — ^not 
enough to make us shiftless and with no ambition to 
better our condition, but enough to stop this restless- 
ness, this wild rush for money, this wear and tear 
upon brain and heart that is getting to be the curse 
of the land. I wish everybody was happy and had 
nothing against nobody. I wish every farmer had 
fine horses and fat cattle and plenty of pocket change, 
and dident have to work only when he felt like it. 
I wish I had a winter home in Florida with orange 
groves and pineapples and bananas, and a summer 
home up among the mountains, and a railroad and 
palace cars between the two, and a free pass over the 



Bill Arp. 243 

line and plenty of money at both ends of it. I wish 
I was a king with a mint of gold and silver at my 
command, so I could go about in disguise and mingle 
with the poor and friendless and lift them up out 
of distress and make 'em happy. I wish I was a 
genii like we read of in the Arabian Nights, and 
could, at a breath, build palaces and make diamonds 
and pearls and marry all the poor girls to rich hus- 
bands, and all the struggling boys to princesses and 
kick up a cloud of golden dust wherever I went. 
No I don't, either, for I know now that the like of 
that wouldent bring happiness in this sublunary 
world. The best condition for a man is to have 
neither poverty nor riches. Old Agur prayed a good 
prayer and he knew how it was — 

For riches bring us trouble when they come, 
And there 's want in the homes of the poor. 

But it 's good for a man to have a little sum 
To keep away the wolf from the door. 

Some folks are never happy unless they are miser- 
able. Their livers are green and yellow like melan- 
choly, and they want everything they can get and 
would rather see mankind going to hell than to heaven 
if they could stay behind and play wreckers on eter- 
nity's shore. I have seen men whose very presence 
would dry up all hilarity as quick as a slack tub cools 
hot iron; men who never smile willingly, and when 
they force one the cadaverous visage is lit up for a 
moment with a brimstone light, and then relapses into 
its natural scowl. Such people are a nuisance upon 



244 Bill Arp. 

society, and ought to be abolished or put into a lower 
asylum like luniacks. I 've no more toleration for 'em 
than for a mad dog, and if there's any apology it's 
in favor of the dog. 

How inspiring is the earliest breath of spring, when 
nature like a blushing maid is putting on her panta- 
lets and preparing to bang her silken hair. How 
quickly it brings to life the slumbering emotions 
which, though chilled by the frosts and the winds of 
winter, were not dead, but only lay dormant like a 
bear in his den. What harmonious feelings spring 
up in one's bosom and gush forth to all mankind. 
This balmy weather fills all the chambers of the soul 
with music that is not heard and with poetry that is 
not expressed. The very air is redolent with love and 
peace. Turnip greens are running up to seed, the 
plum trees are in bloom, the busy bee is sucking their 
fragrant blossoms, and by and by will be stinging 
the children as usual. The sweet south wind is 
breathing upon the violet banks. Alder tags hang in 
graceful clusters upon their drooping stems. Jon- 
quils are in a yellow strut, and the odorous shallots 
are about right for the frying pan. The little silver- 
sides and minnows have opened their spring regattas. 
The classical robin has ceased to get drunk on the 
China berry, and the ferocious chicken hawk catches 
about one a day from our earliest broods. Everything 
is lively now — 

Over the meadows the new-born lambs are skipping, 
Over the fields the little boys are ripping. 



Bill Arp. 245 

The country is the best pla.ce for children. What 
a glorious luxury it is for them to go barefooted and 
wade in the branch and go seining, and climb trees 
and hunt birds' nests, and carry the corn to mill, and 
run pony races. It is well enough for a man to live 
in a town or a city when he is young and active, but 
when he gets married and the litle chaps come along 
according to nature, he ought to get on a farm to 
raise 'em. An old man with numerous grandchildren 
has got no business in a city. What a burlesque on 
childhood's joy it must be to visit grandpa and 
grandma in a city penned up in brick walls, with a 
few sickly flowers in the window, and a garden in the 
rear about as big as a wagon sheet. Might as well 
try to raise good, healthy, vigorous colts in a stable- 
yard. There is too much machinery about raising 
children now-a-days anyhow. The race is run- 
ning out, and nothing but country life can 
save it. The old back-log is gone, and the 
big, open, friendly fire-place, and the cheerful, 
blazing family hearth; and now it is a hole in the 
floor, or iron pipes running around the walls. I 
reckon that is economy, but in my opinion a man 
can't improve the stock that way, nor keep it as good 
as it was. The children will be picayunish and over- 
nice and sharp-featured and potty before and gim- 
lety behind. They won 't do to bet on like those chaps 
brought up around a fire-place on a hundred-acre 
farm. 



246 Bill Arp. 

Raisin children is the principal business of human 
life, and is about all that the majority of mankind 
are working for, though they don't know it. It is 
the excuse for all the mad rush of business that hur- 
ries us along. It is the apology for nearly all the 
cheating and stealing and lying in the land. "Work- 
ing for the children is behind it all, and the trouble 
is that most everybody is trying to do too much for 
'em and scuffling against wind and tide to keep up 
with their nabors or get a little ahead. Too many 
fine clothes, too many kid gloves and parasols and 
new bonnets — too many carpets and pictures and cur- 
tains, and a thousand other things that run up the 
outgo bigger than the income, and keep the poor fel- 
lows always on a strain. I love to humor 'em and 
to play horse with 'em, and tell 'em stories about Jack 
and the bean stalk, and what I did when I was a 
little boy; and I put 'em to bed and rub their backs 
and let 'em trot around with me a good deal on week 
days and all day Sunday, but I'm not going to waste 
my slender substance on 'em, for it's nature's law 
that they must work for a living and they shall. I'm 
going to raise 'em in the country, for, as Thomas 
Jefferson said : ' ' The influence of great cities is pesti- 
lential to health and morals and the liberties of the 
people." 



Bill Arp. 247 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 



Christmas on the Farm. 

A happy New Year to you and your readers. I 
don't mean just the first day, but all the year round. 
I wish from my heart everybody was comfortable and 
contented and everybody lived in peace. I was rum- 
inating over that kind of a millennium which would 
come if there were no bad folks — no lazy folks, no 
envy nor spite nor revenge — no bad passions, but 
everybody took things easy and tried to make all 
around them happy. I wasent thinking about a reli- 
gious millennium for I have known people to make 
mighty good, honorable citizens who dident have any 
religion to spare and some who had a power of it on 
Sunday but was a juggling with the devil all the rest 
of the week. I was thinking about that class of folks 
who gave us no trouble and was always willing to tote 
fair. The law wasent made for them. I was thinking 
about the half a million of dollars it costs to run the 
State government a year and the half a million more 
it costs to run the counties and courts. If everybody 
was clever and kind we could save most all of it and in 
a few years everybody would have enough to be com- 
fortable and to educate their children. The laws are 
made for bad people only, and bad people costs us 
about all the surplus that's made. I know folks all 



248 Bill Arp. 

around me who never violate a law or impose on their 
nabors or have a law suit, and it seems to me they 
ought not to be taxed like people who are always a 
fussing around the courthouse and taking up the time 
of juries and witnesses. There ought to be some way 
to reward good citizens who give us no trouble or 
expense, and to make folks who love strife and conten- 
tion pay the expense of it. 

But I started out wishing for a happy New Year 
to everybody, and my opinion is that we can all make 
it happy if we try. Let's try. Let's turn over a new 
leaf. Let's have a Christmas all the year long. Let's 
keep the family hearth always bright and pleasant. 
Fussing and fretting don't pay. Solomon says its 
like water dropping on a rock — it will wear away a 
stone. The home of an unhappy discordant family is 
no home at all. It aint even a decent purgatory. The 
children won't stay there any longer than possible. 
They will emigrate and I don't blame em. 

"We've had a power of fun at my house the last 
few days. Mrs. Arp said she was going to town. She 
had a little passel of money hid away — nobody knew 
how much or where she got it, but sometimes when 
my loose change is laying around or left in my pock- 
ets, I've noticed that it disappears very mysteriously. 
It took about two hours to arrange herself for the 
expedition and she left us on a mission of peace on 
earth and good will to her children. 

''Now, William, you know the Christmas tree is to 
be put up in the hall. You have very good taste about 



Bill Arp. 249 

such things and I know I can trust you without any 
directions. Put in that large square box in the smoke 
house and fasten it well to the bottom, and put the 
top on the box for a table, and the girls will cover it 
nicely with some curtain calico. But I will not direct 
you, for I know you can fix it all right. There are 
most too many limbs on the tree. There is a lot of 
pop corn already threaded and you can arrange them 
in festoons all over the tree, and the oranges that Dick 
sent us from Florida are locked up in the pantry. 
Thread them with a large needle and tie them all 
about on the limbs. The little wax candles and the 
tins to fasten them are in the drawer of my bureau. 
I've had them for several years and we will light up 
the tree to-night. The milk is ready to churn you 
know. Set the jar in the large tin bucket before you 
churn. It will save messing the floor. There are two 
turkeys in the coop — take the fattest one — you can tell 
by holding them up in your hands. Ralph will help 
about the turkey. If you think one turkey will not 
be enough you had better kill a couple of chickens to 
go with it. I do hope all the children will be here, but 
I am afraid they won't. It does look like we might 
get together once a year anyhow. Now do attend to 
the turkey just as nice as you can, and leave the but- 
ter for me to work over when I come back. The fnmt 
yard ought to be swept and the back yard is an awful 
mess. But I will just leave everything to you. Keep 
the hall doors locked, for the children mustent see the 
tree until Santa Claus comes. That mistletoe must 



250 Bill Arp. 

be put over the parlor pictures. Hunt up a few more 
eggs if you can find them. Don't disturb the mince 
pies in the closet — never mind about that either, for 
I 've got the key in my pocket. ' ' 

It always did seem to me that ours was the noisiest, 
liveliest and most restless set that ever stumped a toe 
or fell into the branch. They went through the mea- 
sles, and the whoopin' cough, and chicken pox, and 
I don't know how many more things,without stoppin' 
to see what was the matter. A long time ago it was 
my opinion that I could regulate 'em and raise 'em 
up accordin' to science, but I dident find that amount 
of co-operation which was necessary to make a fair 
experiment. On the contrary, I found myself regu- 
lated, besides being from time to time reminded by 
their maternal ancestor that the children were hern, 
and to this day she always speaks of 'em as "my chil- 
dren." Well that's a fact; her title is mighty good to 
'em I know^ and on reflection I don 't remember to have 
heard any dispute about who was the mother of a 
child. 

"Well, we can sing the same old song — how the little 
folks had lived on tip-toe for many days waiting for 
Santa Glaus, and how that umble parlor was dressed 
in cedar and mistletoe, and the big back log put on, 
and the blazing fire built up, and the little stockings 
hung by the mantel, and everything got ready for the 
kind old gentleman. How that blue-eyed daughter 
played deputy to him, and was the keeper of every- 
body's secret; and shutting herself up in the parlor, 



Bill Arp. 251 

arranged everything to her notion. How that when 
supper was over one of the boys slipped up the ladder 
to the top of the house with his cornet and tooted a 
few merry notes as the signal that Santa Claus had 
arrived. Then came the infantile squeal, and the 
youthful yell, and the Arpian shriek, and all rushed 
in wild commotion to the festive hall. Then came the 
joyful surprises, all mixed up with smiles and sun- 
beams, and exclamations and interjections. Tumul- 
tuous gladness gleamed and glistened all around, and 
the big bucket of family joy ran over. But every- 
body knows how it is hisself, and don't hanker after 
a history of other people's frolics. 

Well, the old year has buried its dead, and brought 
forth its living to take their places. And the time is 
at hand when everybody is going to open a new set 
of books, and turn over a new leaf and pass a few res- 
olutions to be kept about three weeks. That's all 
right. Keep 'em as long as you can, but don't repent 
of this year's sins too much at once. Don't get too 
much religion at a revival, for by and by the snow 
will be gone, and the spring will open and the birds 
begin to sing and the flowers to bloom and man's con- 
ceit and independence come back to him and make 
him forget the winter and his promises, and strut 
around like he was running the whole macheen. But 
it's all right, judge, all right, as Cobe says. If a man 
is good accordin' to his capacity he can't be any 
gooder. 



252 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



Democratic Principles. 

How sweet are the sounds from home. How sooth- 
ing the consolations of a discerning wife. I was feel- 
ing bad and she knew it. My cogitations over the elec- 
tion news were by no means jubilant. Silent and sad, 
with the newspaper open on my knee, I had been look- 
ing dreamily at the flickering flames for about ten 
minutes while Mrs. Arp sat near me sewing a patch 
on a pair of little breeches, when suddenly she in- 
quired : 

''What did you expect Mr. Cleveland to do for 
you?" 

"Nothing," said I, "nothing at all; but then you 
see, my dear, its highly important that a Democrat 
should be at the head of the nation. ' ' 

She never looked up nor for a moment stopped the 
graceful jerk of her needle and thread as she again 
inquired : 

"And what would a Democratic President do for 
you?" 

' ' Well, nothing — nothing at all, ' ' said I ; " but then 
you see I feel interested in the success of our party 
and the promulgation of the great general principles 
of the Democracy. They are the hope of the country 
—the— the— " 



Bill Arp. 253 

"Please tell me something about those great prin- 
ciples, ' ' said she ; ' ' what are they ? ' ' 

''Why, my dear, the great principles of our party 
are — they — are — the — why they are as old as the gov- 
ernment. They underlie the foundation of Demo- 
cratic institutions — they ' ' — 

' ' But what are they ? ' ' said she. 

''Well, in the first place," said I, "when Thomas 
Jefferson was President he eliminated and set forth 
those principles in a series of state papers that have 
established in the mind of American patriots a rever- 
ence for democratic government that" — 

' ' But what are the principles ? ' ' said she. 

' ' Well, as I was going to say, the democratic institu- 
tions of our country have contributed more to the 
preservation of life, liberty and happiness than all 
other causes combined ; indeed the benefits that its ad- 
herent partake of are — they are" — 

"Justification, adoption, and sanctification, " said 
she. 

"No, not exactly; not to that pious extent," said I. 
"An enumeration of all those great principles would 
require more time than — than — " 

' ' Well, never mind, William, never mind, ' ' said she 
affectionately; "I don't want to take up your valuable 
time, but I've been suspecting, for a long time, that 
those principles were to get in office and draw big 
salaries, and live high without work, and I reckon one 
party can do that about as well as another; don't 
you' 



9" 



254 Bill Arp. 

' ' Well, yes, my dear ; there is, I confess, some foun- 
dation for your suspicions; but then, you see, we are 
trying to nationalize the American people through a 
national party, and become once more in fraternal 
union, and — " 

*'Well, you can't do that, William," said she. 
**They never did like us and we never did like them. 
We needn't have any more war, but we can be stately 
and distant like we have to be with nabors that are 
not congenial. If I was you I'd let national politics, 
as you call it, alone, for it's a jack o 'lantern business 
and will never profit you. Look after your farm and 
your home affairs. You had better go out now and 
water the flowers in the pit, and see where Carl and 
Jessie are. The meal is nearly out, and you had better 
shell a turn of corn this evening, and while you are 
down there see if the old blue hen has hatched. Her 
time is about up. Stir around awhile and don't be 
looking so far away." 

Blessed woman ! I did stir 'round, and it made me 
feel better. I shall take no more interest in national 
politics until — ^well, until the next election. Consola- 
tion is a good thing. I'm going to be reconciled any- 
way and not give up the ship. Reckon I can stay at 
home and make corn and cotton, and frolic with the 
children, and ruminate on the uncertainties of life 
and bask in the sunshine of the family queen. 

'^I am afraid you are hankering after an office," 
said she, "and that would take you away from home 
and leave me and the children alone. Office is a poor 



Bill Arp. 255 

thing; when a man gets one, everybody is envious of 
him, and he has to give about half his salary to keep 
his popularity. We've got a good home, and we are 
getting along in years, and I think we had better stay 
here, and be as happy as we can. Don't you, John 
Anderson, my Joe?" and she placed her little soft 
hand so gently and lovingly on my frosty brow, my 
reverend head, that I havent thought about office 
since. I'm going to camp right here. Dr. Talmage 
has been preaching a sermon lately on married folks, 
and he says it's the way the women do that drives 
their husbands off at night to the club house, and the 
stores, and the loafing places about town; says they 
don't sweeten up on 'em like they did before they was 
married — don't come to the door to meet 'em — don't 
play the piano, but sorter give up, and are always com- 
plaining about something, or scolding the children or 
the servants. Well, maybe that's so to some extent, 
but my observation is that most of them fellers went 
to the club-houses and loafed around before they were 
married. I've knowed men to quit home and go up 
town every night because they said they was in the 
way while the children were being washed and put 
to bed. My wife, Mrs. Arp, taught me a long time ago 
that a man could perform those little offices about as 
well as a woman, and if they are his children he ought 
to be willing to do it. There the poor woman sits and 
sews and nurses the little chaps all the day long, 
tieing up the cut fingers and stumped toes, and doc- 
toring the little tooth-ache, and leg-ache, and stomach- 



256 Bill Arp. 

ache, and fixen 'em something to eat, and helping 'em 
in a thousand little ways — while the lord of the house 
is chatting with his customers or sitting in his office 
with his feet upon a table or against the mantel-piece, 
and another feller just like him is doing the same 
thing, and they talk, and swap lies, and laugh, and 
carry on, and it's ''ha, ha, ha," and ''he, he, he," and 
' ' ho, ho, ho ; " and about dark he stretches and yawns 
and says, "Well, I must go home; it's about my sup- 
per time;" and brother Talmage wants his poor wife 
to be a watching at the window, and when she sees 
him coming she must run out and meet him 'twixt 
the house and the gate, and kiss him on his old smoky 
lips and say, "Oh, my dear, my darling, I'm so glad 
you have come." Well, that's all right, I reckon, if a 
woman ain 't got nothing else to think about but fitting 
herself for heaven, but to my opinion a man ought to 
go home a little sooner than he does, and take a little 
more interest in things when he gets there. 

Women are a heap better than men if they have 
half a chance. They were created better. They begin 
the world better in their infancy. Little girls don't 
go round throwing rocks at birds and shooting sling- 
shots at the chickens and running the calves all over 
the lot and setting the dogs on the barn cats and 
breaking up pigeons' nests and all that. Never saw 
a boy that did'nt want to shoot a gun and kill some- 
thing. It's a wonder to me that these kind, tender- 
hearted girls will have anything to do with 'em, but 
it seems like they will, and I reckon it's all right, but 



Bill Arp. 257 

if I was a ycung marryin' woman I would be miglity 
particular about mating with a feller round town wbo 
belonged to ha\f a dozen societies of one sort or an- 
other and was out every night. If I wanted a man 
all to myself I would look out for some farmer boy 
who would take me to the country where there ain't 
no clubs or Masonic lodge or Odd Fellows or Knights 
of Honor or Pythias or Scylla or Charybdis, or fire 
companies, or brass bands, or mardi gras, or pate 
defoi gras. I'd force him to love me whether he 
wanted to or not, for there wouldn't be anything to 
distract his attention. But then, if a girl wants to fly 
round and be everybody's gal, and have all sorts of a 
time, why then she'd better marry in town. It's all a 
question of having one good man to love you, or a 
dozen silly ones to admire. But as I ain't a woman, 
I suppose it's none of my business. 



258 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXXV/ 



The Old School Pays. 

It was about the close of a bright and happy day. 
We were all sitting in the broad piazza and Mrs. Arp 
had laid aside her spectacles and was talking about 
the old Hog mountain that she had been reading about 
in Joel Harris's pretty story, ''At Teague Poteets.'' 
* * "Why, ' ' said she, ' ' that Hog mountain is in old Gwin- 
nett, away up north towards Gainesville, and I went 
to school there when I was a child. Old Aunty Bird 
taught us, and she was a sweet old soul. I know she 
is in heaven if anybody is. I wonder if it is the same 
Hog mountain — but I don't remember any of the 
Poteets." 

Good, honest, clever Tom Gordon, who lives a few 
miles above us, passed along as we were talking, and 
Mrs. Arp's memories took a fresh start as she re- 
marked: "He was a good boy, Tom was. I went to 
school with him to Mr. Spencer, and I Imow his speech 
right now," and she arose forward, and assuming an 
anxious, excited countenance, she said as she stretched 
forth her hand, ' ' Is the gentleman done ? Is he com- 
pletely done?" Mrs. Arp is mighty good on a speech, 
and her memory is wonderful, and so to toll her along 
I said, ''and Charley Alden, what was his speech?" 
and without a moment's hesitation she took a new 



Bill Arp. 259 

position and made one of those short neck bows and 
cleared her throat, and repeated with slow and solemn 

voice, 

* ' * On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser rolling rapidly.' '' 

Then she put her other little foot forward, and 
brightened up as she continued : 

'* * But Linden saw another sight,' *' 

And when she got down to the thick of the fight it 
was thrilling to hear her and to see her heroic atti- 
tude as she screamed : 

'* 'Wave, Munich — all thy banners wave. 
And charge with all thy chivalry.' " 

And she waved an imaginary flag all around her 
classic head. 

We all cheered and clapped our hands, for the 
girls had never seen their mother in that role before. 

"And poor Thad Lowe," said I, ''what was his 
speech ? ' ' 

"So from the region of the north," said she. 

"And Rennely Butler," said I. 

"At midnight in his guarded tent," and she gave 
us a whole verse of Marco Bozzaris. She likes that, 
and we begged her to go on, and she went through 
that fighting verse where the Greeks came down like 
an avalanche, and her martial patriotism was all 
aglow as she said: 



260 Bill Arp. 

^' Strike for the green graves of your sires, 
Strike for your altars and your fires, 
God and your native land." 

Goodness gracious, what a soldier she would have 
made. 

It was my turn now, and so I put in on Jim Alex- 
ander's speech at my school. 

" Make way for liberty, he cried. 
Make way for liberty and died. ' ' 

Jim was always a cruising around for liberty, and 
the speech suited him mighty well. But Tom, his 
brother, had a liking for the law and spoke from Dan- 
iel Webster, ' ' Gentlemen, this is a most extraordinary 
case. ' ' And there was Gib Wright, the biggest boy in 
school, who carried his head on one side like he was 
fixing to be hung, and he came out on the floor with 
a flourish and made big demonstrations, fixing his No. 
13 feet, and you would have thought he was going to 
speak something from Demosthenes or Ajax or Her- 
cules or the rock of Gibraltar, when suddenly he 
stretched forth his big long arm and said: 

" How doth the little busy bee 
Improve each shining hour." 

We never thought he would get to be a big lawyer and 
a judge, but he did. 

And General Wofl^ord was there too, and his speech 
was the speech of an Indian chief to the pale faces, 
and most every sentence began with "brothers," and 
he whipped a big sassy Spaniard by the name of Del 



Bill Arp. 261 

Gardo for imposing on us little boys, and then went 
off to fight the Mexicans for imposing on Uncle Sam, 
and ever since he has been fighting somebody for im- 
posing on somebody, and I think he had rather do it 
than not. 

And there was Jim Dunlap who used to spread him- 
self and swell as he recited from Patrick Henry's 
great speech: "They tell us, sir, that we are weak, 
but when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next 
week or the next year?" and he just pawed around 
and shook the floor as he exclaimed, "Give me liberty, 
or give me death ! ' ' Jim dident carry as much weight 
before him as he carries now, but he was a whale, and 
had a voice like a bass drum with a bull frog in it. 
Jim was called on during the late war to choose be- 
twixt liberty or death, and he sorter split the differ- 
ence and took neither, but he pulled through all right. 

After this effort, which sorter exhausted me, Mrs. 
Arp recalled Melville Young's speech about "King 
Henry of Nevarre," and Charley Norton's speech to 
the eagle, "Great bird of the wilderness, lonely and 
proud," and Charley Rowland's solemn dirge to Sir 
John Moore, "Not a drum was heard, not a funeral 
note," and then I was called on for my own speech, 
and I had to stand up and advance forward and make 
a bow and say: "My name is Norval — on the Gram- 
pian hills my father fed his flocks. ' ' 

I remember it took my teacher two weeks to keep 
me from saying ' ' my name is Norval on the Grampian 
hills," and he asked me what was my name off the 



262 Bill Arp. 

Grampian hills ; and finally I got the idea that I must 
put on the brakes after I said Norval and then make 
a new start for the hills. 

Mrs. Arp then branched off on the composition and 
recitations of the girls, and recited sweet little Mary 
Maltbie's piece on the maniac: ''Stay, jailer, stay 
and hear my woe," and Sallie Johnson's composition 
on ''Hope." 

"Hope! If it was not for hope man would die. 
Hope is a good invention. If it was not for hope, 
woman would mighty nigh give up a ship. " 

And that reminded me of Mack Montgomery's 
prize essay on money. 

"Money! Money is a good invention. The world 
couldn't get along much without money. But folks 
oughten to love money too good. They oughten to 
hanker after other folks money, for if they do its 
mighty apt to make 'em steal and rob. One day there 
was a lonesome traveler going along a lonesome road 
in the woods all solitary and alone by himself, without 
nobody at all with him, when suddenly in the twink- 
ling of an eyeball out sprang a robber and shotten him 
down, and it was all for money. ' ' 

Mrs. Arp 's thoughts seemed away off somewhere as 
she tenderly repeated : 

** When I am dead no pageant train 
Shall waste their sorrows at mj bier.'' 

"That was my dear brother's speech," said she 
' ' and it all came true. He was killed at Chicamauga. 



Bill Arp. 263 

The cruel bullet went in his brain and he fell with his 
face to the foe and there was no pageant train ; no kin- 
dred ; no sorrows wasted ; no time for sorrow ; no lov- 
ing hand ; no burial for a long time. Oh, it is so sad, 
even now, to think about the poor, dear boy. He was 
good to us and we loved him. ' ' 

Our school-mates are few and far between now. 
Death has carried most of them away and those who 
are left are widely scattered. How the roads of life 
do fork — and some take one and some another. We 
are all lil^e pickets skirmishing around, and one by one 
get picketed off ourselves by the common foe. I had 
liked to have got picked off myself a day or two ago. 
The wagon had come from town with a few comforts, 
and one was a barrel of flour. Mrs. Arp and the chil- 
dren always come to the south porch when the wagon 
comes, for they want to see it unloaded and feel good 
for a little while, and so when the hind gate was taken 
off and Mrs. Arp had wondered how we would get 
out the flour, I thought I would show her what a man 
could do. I rolled the barrel to me as I stood on the 
ground and gently eased it down on my manly knees. 
My opinion now is that there is a keg of lead in that 
barrel, for my knees gave way and I was falling back- 
wards, and to keep the barrel from mashing me into 
a pancake or something else, I gave it a heave forward 
and let her go, and it gave me a heave backward and 
let me go, and I fell on a pile of rocks that were laid 
around a cherry tree, and they were rough and ragged 
and sharp, and tore my left arm all to pieces and 



264 Bill Arp. 

raked it to the bone. The blood streamed through my 
shirt sleeve and I was about to faint, for blood always 
make me faint, when Mrs. Arp screamed for camphor, 
and the girls run for it, and before I could stop 'em 
they had campfire and turpentine fire poured all over 
my arm, and I went a dancing around like I was in a 
yaller jacket's nest. It liked to have killed me, shore 
enuf, but after while I rallied and went to bed. I 
havent used that arm nor a finger on that hand till 
now, and go about sad and droopy. But I have had 
a power of sympathy, and Mrs. Arp is good — mighty 
good. I'm most willing to tear up a leg or two by 
and by, for they are all so good. And now I'm in a 
fix — for I can't shave but one side of my face and 
company is coming tomorrow. 

"Well, I used to could let down a barrel of flour — I 
used to could — but rolling years will change a man — 
anno domini will tell. I reckon by the time I get my 
neck broke I will begin to realize that I 'm not the man 
I used to be, but as Cobe says, ''if I could call back 
20 years I'd show 'em." The next time a berrel of 
flour comes to my house I will get two skids twenty- 
five feet long and let it roll out, see if I don't. But 
it's all right, and I've had a power of sympathy, and 
sympathy is a good thing. I would almost die for 
sympathy. I shall get well slowly — very slowly. But 
Mrs. Arp asked me this morning if I couldn't pick 
the raspberries for dinner with one hand — said she 
could swing a little basket round my neck. What a 
thoughtful, ingenious women. 



Bill Arp. 265 

The older we grow the oftener do we reverse the 
telescope and look back. How distant seem the scenes 
of our youth. If I did not know better I would say it 
has been a hundred years since I was a little boy 
trudging along to the first school I ever attended. The 
old school days are a notable part of everyone's life. 
My wife and I frequently indulge in these memories, 
for we went to school together, though I was six years 
her senior. We tell over to the children all the funny 
things that happened, and discuss the frailties and the 
virtues of our school mates and magnify the teachers, 
and she tells them as how I was a smart boy and 
stood head in the spelling class for a month at a time, 
and she remembers the speeches I spoke, and with a 
pretended regret she says: ''Children, your father 
was a very handsome boy, with black, glossy hair, 
and he had plenty of it then. The girls used to cast 
sheep's eyes at him then, but I didn't, for I was too 
young to be a sweetheart then, but he had them. Yes, 
he was smart and good-looking too, and he knew it. 
Yes, he knew it. He had a fight once at school about 
his sweetheart. Her name was Penelope McAlpin, and 
another boy called her Penny-lops, just to tease your 
pa, and he hit him right straight and they fought like 
wild cats for awhile. When he was a young man and 
I was in my teens, he was the dressiest youth in the 
town and wore the tightest boots. Oh, my ! I had no 
idea he would ever notice me, and I don't know yet 
what made him do it. ' ' 



266 Bill Arp. 

Well, you see, the like of that called for a response, 
and so I had to put in and tell what a beautiful, hazel- 
eyed Creole she was — what long raven hair that fell 
over her shoulders in waving tresses, and what beauti- 
ful hands and feet, and how fawn-like she locomoted 
about and about, and how shy and startled she was 
when I began to address her, and what juicy lips that 
seemed pouting for a lover, and then her teeth — ^her 
pearly teeth — that were almost as pretty as those she 
has now. I told them how hard it was to win her until 
she found out I was in earnest, and then how suddenly 
she surrendered with tumultuous affection, and I re- 
cited with tender pathos those beautiful lines of Cole- 
ridge : 



C( 



She wept with pity and delight. 

She blushed with love and virgin shame, 

And like the murmur of a dream 
I heard her breathe my name. 

She half enclosed me in her arms, 

She pressed me with a meek embrace. 

And bending back her head looked up 
And gazed upon my face." 

Just then Mrs. Arp stopped sewing and gazed at me 
sure enough, as she said: "Was there ever such a 
story-teller? Why, you know I didn't do any such 
thing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. ' ' 

"I was just telling how Genevive did," said I, 
"and how Coleridge won his 'bright and beauteous 
bride.' She has hazel eyes, too." 



Bill Arp. 267 

Young man, you had better not try to flirt with a 
pair of hazel eyes. It is a waste of time and danger- 
ous. They are less susceptible than the blue, and when 
once deceived do not pine away in grief, but rally for 
revenge and take it out in scorn. If you tackle them 
you had better go in to win or leave the country. And 
while I think of it, I '11 make another remark : When 
you woo and win and wed, you had better keep on 
wooing and winning afterwards or leave the country. 
It takes a power of love to do them. 

We little chaps used to go to school to female teach- 
ers — to Yankee school marms, who were well educated 
and smart. But they never taught school very long, 
for our widowers married them about as fast as they 
came. You see, our high-strung blooded girls wouldn't 
marry widowers, for they could always get young men 
to their liking, but a well-to-do widower had a fancy 
for a settled woman, who was raised to economy, and 
would be so grateful for having bettered her condition 
in life. Of course they did not all marry widowers, 
but they married, and they made good wives and good 
mothers, and their descendants are all over the sunny 
land, and have proved a splendid cross from Southern 
blood and Northern energy. 

The first teacher I ever went to was a Yankee wom- 
an, and she had a dunce block set up in the middle 
of the room for the lazy scholars to sit on. The mis- 
chievous ones were made to stand on the table or in the 
comer with face to the wall. She never whipped us, 
and was a kind motherly woman. Jim Wardlaw " fit " 



268 Bill Arp. 

her once and she laid him on her lap and tried to 
spank him, but he bit her on the knee and she screamed 
' ' mercy ' ' and let him go. 

The other day I chanced to be one of a party of as- 
sorted gentlemen and they took it by turns telling of 
their schoolboy frolics and adventures. One said, 
*' while I was going to school to old Greer I picked a 
lot of wet mud off my shoe heels and made it into a 
ball and thought I would just toss it over and hit Ed. 
Omberg, who sat on the other side of the school room. 
Old Greer was on that side, too, and right between me 
and Ed., but I thought I could flip it over his head 
while he was leaning over his desk setting copies, but 
somehow dident flip it hard enough and it came down 
on old Greer's head kerflop and flattened out like a 
pancake. I never saw a man more astonished in my 
life, and I was scared mighty nigh to death. I ducked 
down to my book and dident dare to look up. My 
ducking down was what caught me, for the other boys 
were looking up in wonder, and they would look at 
old Greer and then look at me, and a pointer dog 
couldn't have spotted a bird any better. 'Come here,' 
said he. 'Come here; come here; come right along 
here;" and he met me half way and gave me about 
twenty-five that lasted and lingered for a whole week. 

"Jim Jones was a stuttering boy, and chock full of 
mischief. Early one morning he fastened the historic 
pin in old Greer's split-bottom chair, and when he 
came in and called the roll and then took a seat in his 
accustomed seat, he didn't stay there long, but rose 



^ Bill Arp. 269 

up with great alacrity. His eyes flashed fire as he 
■ gazed around the room, and he canght Jim in the same 
way he caught me, and seizing a long, keen, supple 
hickory said: 'Come up here, sir, you villainous 
scamp. I'll show you — come along, sir.' Jim ap- 
proached trembling and slow. ' Come along, I tell you, 
sir.' Jim stopped and stuttered with pitiful accents: 
' Ger-ger-ger-gwine to wh-wh-wh-whip me?' 'Come 
along, I tell you, or I'll — ' ' Ger-ger-ger-gwine to 
wh-wh-whip me hard. ' Old Greer started towards him, 
but Jim had lost confidence, and wheeling suddenly 
made tracks for the door with old Greer after him. 
Jim bounced over two benches to get there first, but 
Greer had to turn a corner around the benches, and in 
doing so tipped and fell broadcast and rolled over be- 
sides, and we boys just cackled. He bounced up as 
mad as Julius Caesar, and said in a towering passion : 
'I'll whip every boy that laughs. Now laugh again, 
if you dare. ' And we dident dare. ' ' 

Well, it is curious that most every devilish boy in 
every school is named Jim. The very name seems to 
make a boy devilish. They generally make notable 
men, and some of them climb very high. There is 
James Madison and James Monroe and Polk and 
Buchanan and Garfield. And Jimmy Blaine is cavort- 
ing around and thinks he ought to be president just 
because his name is Jim. If there is any other good 
reason I don't know it. And I went to school with 
Jim Wilson and Jim Alexander and Jim Wardlaw and 
Jim Linton and Jim Walker and they were a sight. 



270 Bill Arp. 

There is another thing to be noted about school boys. 
They always call their teachers "old." They called 
Dr. Patterson ''old Pat," and Professor McCoy ''old 
Mack, ' ' and Professor Waddell ' ' old Pewt, ' ' and there 
was old Nahum and old Beeman, and old Fouch and 
old Isham. 

We were talking about old Isham, and one of our 
party said: "I went to school to him, and sometimes 
he would slip up on a boy as slyly as a cat upon a rat, 
and catch him making pictures on his slate. He would 
hover over him for a moment, and then pounce down 
upon him like a hawk upon a chicken, and catch him 
by the ears and shove his face down on the slate and 
wipe out the pictures with his nose. One day Jim 
Harris was up at the blackboard blundering along and 
making all sorts of mistakes, and old Isham got mad 
and, seizing him under the arms, lifted him up bodily 
and mopped the blackboard with him and rubbed out 
all his figures, and set him down again and sent him 
to his seat. 

I .went to school to old George, said another, and 
there was a fire-place at one end of the long room, and 
when it was cold weather the small fry were allowed 
to sit up near the fire and the big boys had to do the 
best they could at the other end. Tom Jackson was a 
big, strapping, freckle-faced boy, who was everlasting- 
ly hungry. One morning he brought a big, long sweet 
potato to school and so he pretended to be very cold 
and said "Mr. George, mayn't I go up to the fire to 
warm?" "Go along, sir," said George. Tom took the 



Bill Arp. 271 

shovel and pretended to be punching the fire, but he 
was slying opening a hole in the ashes and suddenly 
dropped the potato in and covered it up. Some of the 
little boys saw him and whispered: "Gimme some, 
Tom; when its done gimme some." *'Hush," said 
Tom, ''and I will." In about half an hour Tom got 
very cold again and asked to go up and warm. '*Go 
along, sir," said George, "you must be very cold this 
morning." Tom warmed awhile and took the shovel 
and pulled out the potato and put it in his pocket. 
' ' Gimme some, Tom ; gimme some, ' ' was whispered all 
around as he marched back to his seat. "Gimme 
some or I '11 tell. ' ' 

The little boys began to snicker and point at Tom 
as he was peeling and bio win' his "tater" behind his 
desk. "What are you boys making all that racket 
about ? ' ' said old George, as he approached them with 
his hickory. ' ' We was laughing at Tom Jackson over 
yonder eating ' his ' tater. ' He roasted it here in the fire 
and promised to give us some if we wouldn't tell, but 
he didn 't. " " Aha, ' ' said old George, ' ' come up here, 
Tom Jackson, you sly, deceitful rascal. That is what 
you were so cold about. What is that sticking out of 
your pocket?" "A tater, sir." "Give it here, sir. 
I '11 have you know this school house is no cook kitchen. 
You are so cold I think a little warming up will do you 
good, sir. ' ' And he gave him about a dozen over his 
shoulders and lower down, and then divided the tater 
among the little boys. 

These school boy tales would fill a book, and I wish 
that "Philemon Perch" would write another. 



272 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 



Roasting Ears and The Midnight Dance. 

I once heard of a grumblin' old farmer who made a 
big crop of very fine corn, and on being congratulated 
about it, said : 

' ' Well, yes ; my corn is all mighty fine, but I don 't 
know how I'll get along without some nubbins to feed 
the steers on. ' ' 

It 's a raining now every day, but it came a little too 
late, and we'll all have plenty of steer food this year. 
I reckon we will make some tolerable corn on the bot- 
toms, and the late planting is coming out smartly. If 
misery loves company we can take comfort like the 
darkey did that Mr. Stephens told about in his speech, 
for poor crops are a pretty "general thin" in this 
naborhood. 

But maybe it's all right — for we did make an abun- 
dance of wheat, and it aint too late to make a right 
smart cotton and git 15 cents a pound for it. A man 
ought to be reconciled to what he cannot help, that is 
unless he owes a little passel of money he can't pay 
and is reminded of it once a month on a postal card. 
That's bad, aint it? Or unless he has got a lot of 
sickly no account children. I tell Mrs. Arp we ought 
to be mighty thankful, for there's nary one of the ten 
that's cross-eyed or knock-need or pigeon-toed or box- 



Bill Arp. 273 

anklecl or sway-backed or Imnip-shouldered or lame 
or blind or idiotic, and the grandchildren are an im- 
provement upon the stock, and I don't believe any of 
'em will ever git to the poor-house or carry a pistol 
or go to the legislature and have some feller offer 'em 
a hundred dollars for his vote. 

A sound, healthy body is a great blessing, and a fair 
set-off to most every kind of bad luck that can happen 
to a man. ]\Ir. Beecher was right when he said the 
first rule to insure good health was to select good, 
healthy pai^ents to be born from. My ruminations on 
this subject have been quite luminous of late, for I've 
been powerful sick. The fact is, I like to have died the 
other night, and all of a sudden. You see I had over- 
worked myself a fixing up a turnip patch, and got wet 
besides, and didn't stop for dinner, and was sorter 
hungry and bilious to start on and we had roasten ears 
for supper and buttermilk and honey, and takin' it all 
together I took the green corn dance about midnight 
and the small of my back caved in, and from then until 
daybreak I never sot up, nor lay down, nor stood still 
a minute. Doubled up and twisted and jerked around 
with excruciatin' pains, I cavorted all over one side 
of the house, for we had some Atlanta company on the 
other, and my groanings were worse than a foundered 
mule. It was just awful to behold and awfuller to 
experience. Spirits of turpentine, camphire, hot water, 
mustard plaster, mush poultice, paregoric, Jamaica 
ginger were all used externally and internally, but no 
relief. I trotted around and paced and fox-trotted 

(10) 



274 Bill Arp. 

and hugged the bed-post and laid down and rolled 
over on the floor like a hundred dollar horse, and my 
wife, Mrs. Arp, she trotted around too, and dosed me 
with this thing and that thing and had the stove fired 
up and hollered for hot water forty times before she 
got it. 

' ' I told you not to work so hard in the hot sun, ' ' said 
she. ' ' Oh, Lordy, ' ' said I. 

' ' I asked you to change your clothes as soon as you 
came to the house and 3^ou didn't do it." "Oh, my 
country, ' ' said I. 

''Don't wake up the company," she continued. 
"And you Avould eat them roasten ears for supper — 
did ever anybody hear of a man eating roasten ears 
for supper and then wash 'em down with buttermilk 
and honey. " " Oh, my poor back, ' ' said I. 

"Do you reckon it's your back — aint it further 
round in front ? " " Oh, no, ' ' said I, "it 's everywhere, 
it's lumbago, it's siatiker, it's Bright disease, it's Etna 
and Vesuvious all mixed up. Oh, I'm so sick — can't 
nobody do nothin'." 

"Poor fellow, poor William, I'm so sorry for you, 
but you will wake up the company if you don't mind — 
I'm doing everything I can. You've taken enough 
things now to kill you. I declare I don't know what 
to do next, and all this comes from moving to the 
country five miles from a drug store or a doctor. I 
told you how it would be — plumbago and skyatiker 
and a bright disease, and the Lord knows what, and I 
wouldn't be a bit surprised if you had the yellow fever 



Bill Arp. 275 

to boot — caiiglit it a trampin' around Memphis, and 
it's just broke out on you. Poor man, if he does die 
v/hat will become of us? But if he gets well he'll go 
and do the same thing over again. Don 't grunt so loud. 
I declare you make enough noise to wake up a grave- 
yard. I never saw such a man. Here, try this mush 
poultice. I thought that v/ater never would get hot. 
Does it burn you?" 

"Oh, yes; it burns, but fire is nothing now, let it 
burn. Oh! I'm so sick. Bring me the paregoric, or 
the laudanum, or something, I can't stand it ten min- 
utes longer," said I. 

''There aint a drop left. You've taken it all. There's 
nothing left but chloroform, and I 'm so afraid of that, 
but maybe it will relieve you, William. My poor Wil- 
liam, how I do hate to see you suffer so, but you will 
never do as I tell you. Do please don't wake up the 
company ! ' ' 

Well, I took the chloroform and went to sleep — to 
the happy land — all-blessed relief, and when I waked 
I was easier, and in due time was restored to my nor- 
mal condition. In my gyrations my mind v/as exceed- 
ingly active. I ruminated over my past life, and could 
find a little comfort in what Lee Hunt wrote about 
some Arab who was admitted to heaven because he 
loved his fellow-men, that is, except some. Just so I 
have loved mine, that is, except some. I thought about 
money in comparison with health and freedom from 
pain, and I felt such an utter disgust for riches; it 
made me sick at the stomach, I would have given a 



276 Bill Arp. 

house full of gold for two minutes' cessation of those 
internal hostilities. 

Well, I kept this numerous and interesting family 
in a very lively state for a few long hours, and it 
taught me a useful lesson. I 'm going to take care of 
myself; I am going to do everything Mrs. Arp tells 
me, for she has got sense — she has. She takes care of 
herself — not a gray hair in her head, and is as bright 
as the full moon ; and when she gives an opinion it is 
an opinion. From that horrible night's experience I am 
more than ever satisfied she loves me as well as ever, 
and wouldn't swap me off for nobody. When I stand 
up before her and say "Juror look upon the prisoner — 
prisoner look upon the juror," she always says "con- 
tent. ' ' And then she has such a considerate regard for 
her "company." 



Bill Arp. 277 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 



Open House. 

In the good old patriarchal times most every family 
of wealth kept what was called "open house" and all 
who came were welcome. There was no need to send 
word you were coming, for food and shelter were al- 
ways ready. The generous host met his guests at the 
gate and called for Dick or Jack or Cffisar to come and 
take the horses in the barn — plenty of big fat hams 
and leaf lard in the smoke house — plenty of chickens 
and ducks and turkeys in the back yard — plenty of 
preserves in the pantry — plenty of trained servants to 
do the work while the lady of the house entertained her 
guests. How proud were these family servants to show 
off before their visitors and make display of their ac- 
complishments in the kitchen and the dining room and 
the chamber. They shared the family standing in the 
community and had but little sympathy for the ''poor 
white trash" of the neighborhood. 

Some of us try to keep open house yet, but can't do 
it like we used to. The servants are not trained, and 
they come and go at their pleasure. Sometimes the 
larder gets very low and the purse looks like an ele- 
phant had trod on it. But still we do the best we can. 
"We "welcome the coming and we speed the parting 
guest. ' ' 



278 Bill Arp. 

During the last summer we had a great deal of com- 
pany at our house and some of them stayed a good 
long time, for most of them were from a lower latitude 
and imagined that the yellow fever or some dread 
pestilence was about to invade their low country 
homes. And so they were easily persuaded to protract 
their visit. When they had all departed I was glad, 
for I knew that Mrs. Arp was tired — very tired. I was 
glad too because the supplies were well nigh exhausted 
and the cook had given notice of a change of base. Our 
recess had just begun when I received the following 
appalling epistle : 

Savannah, Ga., 
My Dear Cousin William: 

It is about time that we were paying you that long- 
promised visit (The way he came to be our cousin was 
his step-father's aunt married my wife's great uncle 
about 40 years ago.) It is awful hot weather down 
here. The thermometer is away up to an 100. It 
makes us long for the rest and shade of some quiet, 
cool retreat in the mountains of North Georgia, where 
we can get on the broad piazza of a country home and 
enjoy the fresh mountain air and the cool spring 
water. Our children are all at home now. Our eldest 
son has just returned from college, and our eldest 
daughter is now spending her vacation, and they need 
a good frolic in the country — and there are, as you 
knov/, just six others of all ages and sizes, and they 
continually talk of your springs and your branches 
and the fish pond that you write about so charmingly 



Bill Arp. 279 

in your Sunday letters. So if you have room for us 
we will all be up in a few days. Our second boy lias 
a favorite dog to v/hom lie is much attached. If you 
have no objections we will bring the dog. He is Avell be- 
haved and will give you no trouble. The third boy 
has a pair of fancy goats that are trained to 
work in harness, and I know your children will like 
to frolic with them. We will bring the goats. Our 
nurse will come with us. Now, don't give yourselves 
any anxiety on our account, for we are just coming 
to have a free and easy time and enjoy the air and 
the water. We will bring our fishing tackle along. 

Your Loving Cousin. 

It was with great hesitation that I read this letter 
to Mrs. Arp, but she was equal to the occasion, for 
her hospitality never surrenders. "Well, write to 
them to come along," she said with a sigh. "I ex- 
pect their children are tired of that hot city, and 
would be happy to get up here and play in the branch. 
Their poor mother has had a time of it just like I 
have — a thousand children and no negroes. Born 
rich and had to live hard, and will die poor I reckon. 
But write to them to come along and enjoy the air 
and the water, for there is not much else here now." 

"But, my dear," said I, "there isent anything 
else, and I don't see how we can take them. The 
truth is I am plum out of money and I am ashamed 
to go to town and ask for any more credit. Two 
months ago when our company began to come we had 
three or four hundred chickens running around the 



280 Bill Arp. 

lot, and before the company left I was buying twenty 
a day. It is just awful, and we can't get another 
cook anywhere." 

' ' Well, it don 't matter, ' ' said she, ' ' we can 't refuse 
them — it would be bad manners. Write to them to 
come along, and we will do the best we can. You can 
pick up something, I know; I never knew you to 
fail." 

So under conjugal pressure I indited the follow- 
ing reply: 

My dear Cousin: Your letter delighted us beyond 
expression. Our end of the line is all fixed up, and 
when you telegraph us that you are coming we will 
meet you at the depot. We have a double buggy and 
a farm wagon, and if they will not hold all and the 
baggage and livestock, the boys and the dog and the 
goats can walk out and peruse the country. It is 
only five miles, so come along and be happy and enjoy 
the air and the water. There is plenty of room now, 
for we shipped the last of eighteen visitors yesterday. 
They have run us down to air and water, but there 
is still an abundance of that and you are welcome to 
it. We don't care anything about your dog, but we 
have one here that I am afraid will eat his ears off 
in two minutes. Country dogs never did have much 
consideration for a town dog. The only trouble is 
about feeding your dog with palatable food, for we 
have no scraps left from our table now, and our dog 
has got to eating crawfish. This kind of food makes 
a dog hold on when he bites. 



Bill Arp. 281 

I think you had better bring the goats, for we would 
like to have a barbecue while you are here and we are 
just out of goats. You needent bring your fishing 
tackle as we have plenty, but fish are awful scarce in 
our creek since the mill pond was drawn off. Could- 
ent you bring some salt water fish as a rarity to our 
children? Huckleberries are ripe now and your chil- 
dren will enjoy picking them. Ticks and red bugs 
are ripe, too, and your children will enjoy picking 
them about bed time. Scratching is a healthy busi- 
ness in the country and is the poor man's medicine. 
Town folks can take Cuticura and Sarsaparilla and S 
S S and B B B, but a poor man just has to scratch 
— that's all. 

I wouldent mention it to my wife, but it has oc- 
curred to me that as you are about to break up for 
a season you might just as well bring your cow along, 
for ours are about played out. It would do your cow 
good to enjoy the air and the water. And this re- 
minds me that my wife scraped the bottom of the 
sugar barrel yesterday. It does take a power of 
sweetning for these country berries. A hundred 
pounds or so from your store wouldent come amiss. 
I suppose your nurse wouldent mind sleeping in the 
potato shed. It is a good cool place to roost at night. 
Yfe have no musketoes but snakes are alarmingly 
frequent in these parts. Carl killed a rattlesnake in 
the garden yesterday but he had only six rattles and 
we think we can soon learn your children to dodge 
them ; so come along and enjoy the air and the water. 



282 Bill Arp. 

It is well worth a visit up here to see the blue moun- 
tains and watch the young cyclones meander around. 
A cyclone came in sight of us last spring and un- 
roofed nabor Munford's house and killed seven mules 
and three negro children and went on. It is a grand 
and inspiring sight to see a cyclone on an excursion. 
Our crab apples are ripe now. I read the other day 
a very sad nccount about three children dying of crab 
apple colic in one family. Our cook has given us 
notice that she will leave next Sunday and my wife 
says she has tried all over the naborhood to secure 
another but failed. Maybe you had better bring up a 
cook with you, but if you can't why then we will all 
try and get along on the air and the water. I can 
cook pretty well myself on an emergency, but don't 
fancy it as a regular job. ]5ut the greatest trouble 
now is that v/e have nothing to cook. But come along 
and enjoy the air and the water. Your cousin, 

William. 

Well, he dident come. The next time I saw him he 
said he was just a joking, and I told him I was too. 



Bill Arp. 283 



CHAPTER XXXVIIT. 



The Old Tavern. 

Some time a^o my business called me to an old 
venerable town that is si ill a seoi-e of iidies Trom a 
railroad, and consequently has not made much prog- 
ress in its business or its architecture. Forty years 
had passed since I had visited the place, and there 
was but little chan«.;e. The same old hotel was there, 
one of those h\^, old-fashioned barns that used to pre- 
vail in almost nYevy town, and had a swinging sign- 
board that creaked and swayed with the wind and 
said, ''Entertainment for Man and Beast." They 
used to have a plantation bell swung up on a frame 
close by, and a rope attached to ring the guests to 
fried chicken and ham and eggs and beat biscuit and 
bacon and greens and sausage and lye hominy and 
cracklin' bread. The judge and the bar rode the 
circuit then — not in railroads nor one at a time, but 
all together in buggies and gigs and sulkies. It was 
quite a cavalcade, and attracted wonder and awe and 
attention like a traveling circus. The judge's room 
was always the biggest and best, and every night the 
lawyers would gather there and talk and tell anec- 
dotes and exchange their genial wit and humor, and 
it was a rare treat to a young man to be admitted 
to a corner and listen to them. It was a feast to 



284 Bill Arp. 

me, I know, and I still treasure the memory of those 
delightful evenings at Gainesville and Jefferson and 
Monroe and Watkinsville and Clarkesville, when 
Howell Cobb and Tom Cobb and Hillyer and Dough- 
erty and Overby and Hutchins and Peeples and Jack- 
son and Hull and Underwood were the luminaries of 
the western circuit. What a galaxy was there — all 
notable men in their day, and all honorable. There 
was no trickery in their practice, for they scorned it, 
and they loved to meet each other on these semi- 
annual ridings, and each one was expected to come 
laden with a new batch of anecdotes wherewith to 
cheer the night. Book agents were unknown; news- 
papers were neither numerous or newsy, and hence it 
was a great comfort to the people to catch the sparks 
of genius as they scintillated from the lawyers and 
the politicians on the stump and in the forum. Stump 
politics were a big thing with the people. The two 
great parties of Whigs and Democrats were pretty 
equally divided. Sometimes one was in power and 
sometimes the other, and the contest went on from 
year to year and never ceased to create excitement. 
It is not so now at the South, for there is practically 
but one party and it takes two to get up a fight. 

But this venerable town had memories, and its moss 
covered hotel with its steep stairs and narrow passages 
carried me back to those good old primitive times, and 
I felt like painting a head board and nailing it up 
somewhere with the inscription, "Sacred to the mem- 
ory of . ^' 



Bill Arp. 285 

A friend said that it was a pity the old house would 
not catch fire and burn up. But no. I wouldent have 
it so. Let it stand if it will stand. It will never 
rot, for the timbers are all heart and hewed and hon- 
est. I felt like taking off my hat to it and saying : 

Good friend, let's spare that barn. 

Touch not its mossy roof — 
Its walls heard many a yarn 

In its historic youth. 

Under the weight of years 

Its back has crooked grown; 
Look at the creaking doors, 

See how the stairs are worn. 

Oft in each hall and room, 

Lye-soap and sand were thrown. 

And many a home-made broom 
And many a shuck have gone. 

Full many a chick was killed. 

And died without a tear. 
And many a guest was filled 

With comfort and good cheer. 

No, no; let's keep the inn, 

Though it has lost the sign — 
Keep it for what it 's been — 

Keep it for auld lang syne. 

A good old matron is keeping it now, and her table 
abounds in generous old-fashioned fare. 

The other day Judge Milner and Col. McCamy and 
I were lamenting that Judge Underwood, the last of 
that splendid galaxy of lawyers, had passed over the 



286 Bill Arp. 

river, and we exchanged many delightful recollec- 
tions of him, for he was a genial gentleman, and his 
presence always brought sunshine. He was a notable 
man — notable as a judge, as a lawyer, as congress- 
man, and as a wit. We recall the famous Calhoun 
convention, when Judge Wright and General Young 
and General Wofford and Lev/is Tumi in and some 
others were candidates for the nomination to congress, 
and no man had enough votes to elect, and all were 
stubborn, and the balloting w^ent on all day and part 
of the night, and the delegates were getting mad and 
furious and were about to break up in a row, and 
Judge Underwood, who was not a candidate, volun- 
teered to make a conciliatory, harmonizing speech, and 
he did it in such a delightful, affectionate manner, and 
praised up all the candidates in such eloquent tributes 
that when he closed one man got up and waved his 
hat and moved for three cheers to Judge Underwood, 
and they were given with wild enthusiasm, and right 
on top of it another delegate moved that he be nomi- 
nated for congress by acclamation, and he was. Never 
was there such a surprise to anybody except to the 
judge, though he always denied that it was a precon- 
certed scheme. 

Oh, rare Judge Underwood! Colonel McCamy re- 
marked that the judge did not have a very high regard 
for that picture of justice which makes her blind- 
folded and holding the scales equally balanced in her 
hand. So far as crime was concerned he claimed the 



BiiJ. Arp. 287 

right to see, and lie did see the criminal with open, 
unfriendly eyes, and he sought to convict him and 
gave the solicitor-general so much aid and co-operation 
that the lawyers used to say the judge and the solic- 
itor were in partnership. His charge to the jury in 
a criminal case was always fair and strictly legal, for 
he was a great lawyer; but woe be unto the lawyer 
who asked for more than he was entitled to. On one 
occasion a big, rough, malicious young man was in- 
dicted for striking a smaller youth with a brickbat and 
inflicting a terrible wound. The small boy had ])een 
imposed upon by him, and seizing a stick he struck 
him and ran. Bill Glenn was defending the young 
man who used the brick, and after the judge had 
given a very fair charge to the jury, he said: ''Now, 
gentlemen, if I have omitted anything that you think 
should be given in the charge, I will be glad to be 
reminded of it." Bill Glenn rose forward and said, 
''I believe your honor omitted to charge the jury that 
a man may strike another in self-defense." 

"Yes, gentlemen of the jury," said the judge, with 
great sarcasm. "Yes, there is such a provision in 
the law, and if you believe from the evidence that 
this great big, double-jointed, long-armed, big-fisted 
young gentleman was running after that puny, pale- 
faced boy with that brickbat, and because he couldent 
catch him threw it at him with all his force, and 
struck him on the back of the head and knocked him 
senseless, and that he did all this in self-defense, then 



288 Bill Arp. 

you can find the defendant not guilty. Is there any- 
thing else, Brother Glenn?" 

''Nothing, I believe sir. Your honor has covered 
the ground," said Glenn, biting his lips. 

"I was always afraid," said McCamy, ''to ask the 
judge to charge anything more than he chose to — 
especially in a criminal case." 



Bill Arp. 289 



CHAPTER XXXIX. 



The Old-Time Darkeys. 

A merchant or a lawyer or any outsider who never 
farmed any has got an idea that farming is a mightj^ 
simple, and easy, and innocent sort of business. They 
think there is nothing to do but plow and hoe and 
gather the crop, and there is no worry or complication 
about it, except you can't get a rain every time you 
want it, and the crop is short in consequence. I had 
pretty much that sort of a notion myself, but I know 
better now. I've been farming for five years, and I 
like it better and better; I like the freedom of it, its 
latitude and longitude and its variety; but there is 
a power of little worries, and not a few big ones, that 
a man has to encounter and provide for that these out- 
siders never dreamed of. When a man is running 
hired labor it takes about half his time to watch 'em 
and keep 'em from wasting things and losing things 
and doing things wrong. I went down in the field 
yesterday and stumbled on the monkey-wrench in the 
grass by the turn row, and it had been there for a 
month, and I had hunted for it all over the premises, 
and nobody could tell anything about it ; but now the 
darkey ''members takin' it down dar to screw up de 
taps on de cultivator." Not long ago I found the 
hatchet in the edge of the bushes where one of the 



290 Bill Akp. 

boys had cut poles to lay off by. I can pick up 
scooters and dull plows all about the farm, in the 
corners of the panels and on the stumps where they 
put 'em when they changed 'em. My log chain is 
missing' now, and the little 'crow-bar and one of the 
hammers, for sometimes I have to leave home for a 
few days, and although these niggers and my yearlin' 
boys do their level best to surprise me with doin' a 
power of work while I was gone, they don't notice 
little things; they lose at the bung-hole while stop- 
ping up the spigot, or vice varcy, as the saying is. 
They bore the augur bit against a nail, or dull the 
saw in the same way, and let the old cow get in the 
orchard, or the hogs into the tater patch. I've got 
good workin' boys and right industrious darkeys, l3ut 
it takes a man with a head on and his eyes well open 
to keep up with 'em and v/atch out for little things 
— little damages that aggravate a man and keep him 
in a fret, that is if he is but human and can't help 
fretting -when things go wrong. A nabor borrov/ed 
my brace and bit, and the bit came back with one 
corner off; another one borrov/ed my cross-cut saw, 
and it came back awful dull, and will cost me a new 
file. They don 't like it if I don 't lend them my mower 
to cut their clover, though they never have cleaned 
up the rocks in their field. 

A darkey will work a mule sometimes for two 
hours with the hames out of the collar and never see 
it, and he thinks it mighty hard if you won't lend 
him a mule to ride to meetin' of a Sunday. But I 



Bill Arp. 291 

won't do that. They beg me out of a heap of things, 
but they shant ride my stock of Sundays, for I hate 
to do it myself, and when a darkey gets on a mule 
and out of sight he is like a beggar on horseback — 
he'll ride him and run him as long as he can stand 
up. I like the darkeys, I do, but I haven't got much 
hope of 'em ever being anything but the same old 
careless, contented, thoughtless creatures they always 
were. I've got one who took a notion he would lay 
up half of his wages in spite of himself, and he told 
me to put it in the contract that I wasn't to pay him 
but five dollars a month and keep the other half till 
the end of the year. And now he tries to beg me 
out of the other five at the end of every month, but 
I won't pay it, and he goes off satisfied. Nabor Free- 
man came home the other day and found his nigger 
tenants right smart behind with their crops, and they 
had all been off to a three days' meeting and an 
excursion besides, and so he got mad and hauled up 
Bob, and says he : " Bob, what in the dickens are 
you all goin' to such a meetin' for? What is the 
matter, is the devil after you with a sharp stick and 
a bug on the end of it?" 

''Well now, boss," says Bob, "I'll tell you how it 
is. We niggers have been seein' for a long time dat 
you white folks done got dis world, and so we is gv/ine 
to meetin' and fixin' up to get de next one as soon 
as we git dar ; dat 's all ; " and Bob stretched his mouth 
and showed his pearly teeth, and laughed loud at his 
own wit. 



292 Bill Arp. 

I love to hear these old time, good natured darkeys 
talk. John Thomas was in the ragged edge of a cy- 
clone the other day, and said I, "John, what did yon 
darkeys do when the cyclone struck you?" ''Good 
gracious, boss, I tell you — dem niggers just fro wed 
themselves down on de groun', sir, and holler "Oh 
Lordy — good Lord hab mercy on a poor nigger. Neb- 
ber be a bad nigger any more, oh Lordy, good Lordy' 
— and de old slycoon pay no tention at all, but jes' 
lif 'em up and twis 'em all roun and toss 'em ober 
de fence into de red mud hole, and Gim, my soul 
I wish you could hab seen Gim, fo as he was gwine 
ober de fence he struck a postis that was stickin' up, 
and he gethered it wid both arms and held on and 
hollered wus than eber, ' Oh, Lordy — oh my good Lord. 
Bless de Lord, hab mercy on a poor nigger;' and 
about that time the old slycoon twis he tail aroun and 
lif Gim's feet way up over he's head and his holt 
broke and he bounced off on the groun, and den took 
another bounce off on the groun and den took anoder 
bounce into the mud hold, and dar de consarn lef 
him. 

"Atter de slycoon gone clean away I run up to 
Gim, and says I, ' Gim, is you dead or no ? ' Gim lyin 
dar in de mud hole wid nuffin but his head out. Gim 
neber spoke nary word, and his eyes was swelled like 
a dead steer, and says I agin, 'I say, Gim, is you done 
gone clean dead?' for you see I thought if Gim dead 
no use in my wading in de mud after him, and Gim 
he grunt and wall one eye at me and whisper, 'Wha 



Bill Arp. 293 

is he?' 'Wha's who/ said I. 'De debbil,' said he. 
'Done gone/ said I — 'gone clean away. Git up from 
dar — git np, I say.' Gim gib a groan and say, 'I 
can't, I'm done dead.' 'Git up, I tell you,' said I, 
but Gim neber move. 

"Bymeby I frow up my hands and look down de 
big road and say, 'My good Lord Almighty, ef dat old 
slycoon aint a comin right hack here.' Neber see a 
nigger come to life like Gim. He bounced outen dat 
mud hole and start off up de road a runnin' and 
hoUerin' for a quarter of a mile. White folks come 
along and stop him and nebber find a scratch. When 
he got back we was all cuttin' away de timbers from 
offen de mules, and it was half an hour before we 
could git Gim to strike ary lick. Tell you what, boss, 
we was all mighty bad skeered, but I neber see a 
nigger as onready for judgment as dat same nigger 
Gim. When de old debil do get him he raise a rumpus 
down in dem settlements, shore." 

' ' Dident the cyclone take off the roof of your cabin, 
John?" 

' ' Of course he did, boss. He take de roof off along 
eberywhere he go. Look like ebery house he come to 
he dip down and say take your hat off, don't you see 
me comin', and aint you got no manners, and zip he 
strike 'em and take it off hisself. He take de roof 
offen de colored school and offen de white school all 
de same. He no respekter of pussons, bless God. 
Tell you, boss, what I tink about dis old slycoon, I 



294 Bill Arp. 

tink he nuffin but de old debil on a scursion, yah, yah, 
yah," and Bob cackled at his own ideas. 

Bob came over last Sunday to see us. He used to 
be a tenant of mine and we liked him because he had 
a big mouth and was always happy. He was a good 
worker and not afraid of the weather, but he was care- 
less and left his tools most anywhere and barked my 
young apple trees when plowing the orchard. I 
loaned him a new shovel to work the road and he lost 
it, but I couldn't stay mad with Bob long at a time. 
We never supposed that he could get mad enough to 
have a fight with anybody, but he was not on good 
terms with a neighboring darkey, and so one Satur- 
day when they both came from town and had taken 
a drink or two of red eye they undertook to settle the 
old feud and Bob killed him. It was a w^illing fight 
and a bad case all round, and Bob got two years and 
would have got ten but for his good character all his 
previous life. He has served out his term and hon- 
estly feels that he has paid the debt, if he ever owed 
it. 

' ' How did they treat you. Bob ? ' ' 

"Well, sir, dey treat me purty well, purty well; I 
can't complain. No, sir, I can't complain. For de 
fust six mont I didn't like it very well, for, you see, 
me and de gyards hadn't got 'quainted. Bimeby, 
when we all got 'quainted, dej^ took a liken to me and 
tell de capen to take off my shackles, and he take 'em 
off. De best way is to make friens wid de gyard fust, 
jes like when a man wants to make a frien of another 



Bill Arp. 295 

man he miiches up de chillun fust, and dat gits de old 
man and de old 'oman, too. Den de next bes way is 
ter pervide by de laws as nigh as you kin. De capen 
tell us dat de fust da}^ — sez he, boys, you must per- 
vide by de laws. Den he tell us de laws. Dere wasent 
but three or four of 'em, and I lissen wid both years 
wide open, and I say to myself. Bob Smith, you mus 
pervide by de laws, and shore enuf I did, and atter 
we git 'quainted like, we gits sorter intimat and I 
never had any trouble. Dey like me so well dey 
shorten my term three months and three days, and 
when I cum away de capen say, 'Bob, I am sorry to 
see you go — can't you finish out your visit?' And I 
say, 'Capen, I likes you mighty well, but dis is de 
longest visit I eber made anybody in my life, and if 
we ever meet again, you will have to come to my 
house.' " 

"Did they work you very hard, Bob?" 
"No, sir, not overly hard — got to do a full day's 
work, though, and dey knows perzactly what dat is. 
Can't fool 'em, and can't play sick unless you is sick, 
and hardly den. I neber lose but four days in all 
my time. Heap times I thought I was sick, and if I 
had been home I would have laid up shore, but dey 
said I wasent, and dey looked like dey knowed and I 
didn't know, and so I went to work, and shore enuf 
I was all right agin by dinner. Colonel Towers he 
come along every week or so and look roun, and he ax 
me if I have any complaint, and I say, 'No, sir, sepen 
I would like some poun cake/ and he say he forgot 



296 Bill Arp. 

to bring it. I tell you what, boss, de very best thing 
for a man to do when he gits dar is not to go dar — 
not to do nnffin to go dar for, and den when he gits 
dar de nex bes thing is to pervide by de laws. Dere 
is some folks in dar jes as mean and no count as folks 
outen dar. Dere is mean niggers and mean white 
folks everywhere you go. Some folks cum in de worl 
mean and dey«stays mean all de time; but I say dis, 
dat if a man, when he goes dar, will halve hisself and 
pervide by de laws he kin git along and have a tolable 
easy time. 

"De last six mont I stay dar I dident have to work 
any. Dey made me a trusty and I have charge of 
de dogs — de track dogs — and when de niggers get 
away de boss he holler for Bob mighty quick. We 
had two track dogs ; one of 'em was a big, long-eared 
houn dog — could track mighty fast — de oder was a 
small dog, sorter like a fice, but he mighty shore on 
de scent of a runaway. One mornin' about daybreak 
de boss holler, 'Git up. Bob, git up quick, bring de 
dogs, two niggers got away.' So I brings de dogs 
and we put em on de track, and away dey went cross 
an old field and into de woods and was barkin' every 
step. I throws de saddles on de mules in a hurry, 
and I got on one and de boss on toder and away we 
went after de dogs. De runaways dident have more'n 
half an hour start and de track was powerful warm. 
And so de dogs run and de niggers rnn and we run, 
and bimeby after we gone about four miles we hear 
de old houn change his tune like he treed sumfin, and 



Bill Arp. 297 

de boss say, 'Bob, old Sheriff have got 'em.' And 
shore enuf when we got dar de runaways was up in 
a white oak tree a settin' on a limb, and de old houn 
dog was a settin' on de groun wid his head up a 
lookin' at 'em and a barkin', and every time he open 
his mouf he say, 'Too-ooo of 'em, too-ooo of 'em, too- 
000 of 'em.' And de little dog Avas a settin' back on 
his tail, and he say, 'Dats a fak, dats a fak, dats a 
fak. ' Yah, yah, yah. Boss make dem niggers come 
down from dar quick and march 'em back to de 
stockade and give 'em forty lashes apiece, cos you 
see dey dident pervide by de laws." 

Bob asked me one day if a man's soul could be split 
in two. ' ' "What do you mean, ' ' said I, ' ' what kind of 
a fool question is that?" Bob spread his big mouth 
and said: "My boss was tryin' to devil me one day 
'bout gwine to meetin' so much, and he say: 'Bob, 
don 't you know dat a nigger ain 't got no soul ? ' And 
den I ax him if a white man got a soul, and he say, 
' Of course he had. ' And den I say, ' Sposin ' a colored 
man is a melatter and is jes half and half, how's dat?' 
He study awhile and say he 'low a melatter have jes 
half a soul. And den I say, 'Look a here, boss, what 
kind of a thing is dat, dat half a soul? Can you 
split a soul in two ? ' He turn off and laugh and say, 
'Damfino,' and I tell him I's gwine to ax you about 
it." And Bob showed his pearly teeth and laughed 
tumultuously. 

When the prohibition election came off in our 
county the negroes were generally on the side of whis- 



298 Bill Arp. 

key, more whiskey, and better whiskey, but Bob came 
up as a temperance darkey and made a speech to the 
darkeys of his church. A whiskey man in the crowed 
interrupted him and said, ''Sho as you are bornd. 
Bob Smith, effen you vote whiskey outen Cartersville 
de grass will grow waist high in dem streets." 
"'Sposin' it do?" said Bob, " 'sposin' it do? Den 
we'll raise more hay and less hell, and dat's what's 
de matter wid Hannah. Yah! Yah!" 



Bill Arp. 299 



CHAPTER XL. 



Owls, Snakes and Whang-Doodles. 

Most every night about half -past eight, 
• A screech owl mourneth at the outside gate. 

The sweet little katydids sing all the day long. 
Earlier in the season they were happy only at night, 
but now the woods are full of their music by day. It 
is not a song from the mouth, but they rub the bars of 
their wings together and puff out their bodies for 
sounding boards, and if a man could sing as loud in 
proportion to size I suppose he could be heard across 
the Atlantic ocean, and his voice would make an 
earthquake and shake down the stars, and so that 
wouldn't do at all, and he wasn't made that way. 
But these little screech owls are a nuisance and are 
enough to make a nervous woman have fits or hys- 
terics or something. I shot one on the gate post one 
night while he was complaining about somthing we 
had done to him, but another one came back and set 
up his mournful wails. I wonder what makes 'em 
stay away off in the woods all day and come screech- 
ing around the house at night like they wanted to 
haunt us. There is some excuse for superstition 
about owls, for they love darkness rather than light, 
and the ancient philosophers said they were the senti- 
nels and forerunners of evil spirits, and the Scriptures 



300 Bill Arp. 

classed 'em with demons and all sorts of trouble and 
misery. The prophet Isaiah cursed Babylon and said 
the owl should dwell there, and satyrs should dance 
there. And then they look so wise out of their big 
eyes and twist their heads 'round and 'round watch- 
ing you, and you can 't scare 'em nor tame 'em. Well, 
they were made for something, but I don't know what 
it is, and I have frequently thought that when the 
flood covered the earth it was a mighty good time for 
Father Noah to have left out of the ark all such dis- 
agreeable varmints as owls, and snakes, and whang- 
doodles that mourn for their first-born. 

General Black told me that if I wanted to get rid 
of screech owls to put the shovel in the fire when one 
of 'em was a screechin' and he would leave forthwith. 
The general said the fire contracted with the oxide 
in the iron and deluminated an odoriferous that was 
disagreeable to the oil factories of the bird. Jesso. 
Well, I tried it, and he dident leave worth a cent. 

That screech owl is sitting on the gate-post sing- 
ing a funeral dirge. It's a bird of bad omen, and I 
would shoot him, but my wife says an old African 
witch told her grandmother that there would be a 
death in the family if you killed one of 'em, shore. 
It always seemed to me that in the fitness of things 
they belonged to a graveyard or a haunted house or 
a dismal sv/amp or a country meetin' house that the 
hogs slept under and nobody preached in. I don't 
like 'em, especially at this juncture of home concerns, 
for my wife saw the last new moon through a bu^diy 



-Bill Arp^ 301 

tree top right over her left shoulder, which she didn't 
mean to do by no means. Things don't move on 
serenely, and the old horseshoe over the kitchen door 
has lost its influence. I havent seen a pin on the 
floor that dident pint away from me, and the other 
day a rabbit run across the road right before me, and 
soon after I come to a snake track, which they say is 
mighty bad if you don't rub it out with your face 
towards the snake, but I couldn't tell whether the 
snake that made the track was going north or coming 
back, and so had to rub out by guess, and now while 
I 'm a-writin ' Mrs. Arp has got a hummin ' in her right 
ear, and she says it sounds like an Eolean harp, or a 
musketer away off, and that's another funeral sign 
— and last night a black pet chicken came in the 
family room while we was at supper and went to roost 
on top of a picture that hung over the clock on the 
mantel-piece, and nobody knowed it until we had put 
the light out and went to bed, when it chuckled a 
little and Mrs. Arp chuckled a good deal until I 
struck a light, and now she says that Mr. Poe had 
a raven that done the same thing and he died soon 
after. 

The weather is sad. It mists and weeps and stays 
cloudy all the time, and that makes everybody 
gloomy. There hasent been a dry day in three weeks 
that we can plow. The grass grows as fast as the 
cotton and the seed will scatter all over the open bolls 
and the cotton buyers will dock us a cent for trash. 
Things are not working right for us farmers, but we 



302 Bill Arp.^ 

can't help it. The flies take shelter in the house, and 
so do the bugs and the grand-daddies and the bats. 

' ' Here, William, quick, I say — here 's a grand-daddy 
on me; don't you see; why don't you take him off? 
Lord a mercy, did I ever see a man as slow as j^ou 
are? Do please take the thing off." 

Well, you see it takes a long time to find the thing, 
and when you do he 's a crawlin ' on the floor a gettin ' 
away as fast as he can, and she declares that's another 
one and I have to hunt all over her for five minutes. 

''There's one of those contemptible bats in here 
again. Get the broom, William, I wouldn't have it to 
get on me for a thousand dollars. Mercy on me! I 
do believe the house will be run over with vermin. 
Don't break the bureau glass. Why don't you stand 
on the table ? Why, you don 't come in a yard of him ! 
It does seem to me if I was a man I could knock a 
bat down." 

"He has gone out," said I, meekly. 

''How do you know — did you see him? Bet any- 
thing it's on my bed somewhere. Move the pillows 
and bolster. I'll dream about the thing all night." 

It looks like I'll perish to death for want of some 
good warm vittels. I'm juicin' away. You see when 
Mrs. Arp was a cookin' the other day in the basement 
an innocent chicken snake crav/led out from behind 
the meal-chest. Such a scream was never heard since 
the Injuns scalped my great uncle. I run for my life 
and was pickin' her up in my arms v/hen she rallied 
and said, "Kill the snake first;" and I killed it. He 



Bill Arp. 303 

was a lovely snake — all speckled with dark green and 
white, and had just envallowed a mouse. But, alas! 
Die kitchen is purty much deserted and all regular 
cooking- abandoned. When they cook now I have to 
take a gun and stand guard. I march forred and 
backwards like a sentinel. I've had to move the meal 
tub and the stove wood and everything else fourteen 
times, for she declares it's got a mate and the mate 
is there somewhere. "Maybe it's a bachelor snake," 
said I. 

"Oh, of course, you don't believe there's another 
snake in the wide world — and I've found out you 
killed one last week under the hearth, and you told 
the children not to let me know anything about it; 
didn't you?" 

"It was a very little one," said I, "and I dident 
want you troubled about it." 

"Yes, I suppose it was a little one, but snakes are 
snakes, and where there's litle ones there's big ones. 
I do believe the whole plantation is haunted with 'em, 
and everywhere else, for I can't take up a newspaper 
without seeing where somebody was bitten. ' ' 

' ' Men and boys, ' ' says I ; " I havent seen any men- 
tion of a woman being bitten nowhere — fact is, I don 't 
believe they bite females. You knovv^ that old mother 
Eve was mighty friendly with 'em." 

"Yes, that's always the way — you turn everything 
into ridicule. Well, you may hire a cook; I'm not 
going to risk my life nor the children's in this old 
haunted kitchen." 



304 Bill Arp. 

But I think she is getting over it, and with a little 
encouragement things will resume their natural con- 
dition in a few days. The greatest trouble I have 
in this connection is Freeman — my nabor Freeman. 
I reckon he don't mean any harm by it; but just as 
soon as my wife, Mrs. Arp, told him about the snake, 
he up and told her about killin' one over in his field 
as long as a fence rail, and how it had its den in a 
rock pile, and would run out after him and the nig- 
gers, and then retreat ; and they were all fightin ' and 
runnin' and runnin' and fightin' for two hours, un- 
til they wore him out; and he brung dow^n the rattles 
of a rattlesnake and rattled 'em around, and told us 
about finding a spring lizard in the water pail, and 
had liked to have swallered him alive in the gourd. 
And now my wife, Mrs. Arp, won't drink out of any- 
thing but a glass goblet; and when she walks out in 
the front yard she has one eye for flowers and the 
other for snakes and lizzards, and shakes her clothes 
tremendous when she comes back. I wish that one 
w^ould bite Freeman. 



Bill Arp. 305 



CHAPTER XLI. 



Music. 



Music is the only employment that is innocent and 
refining, and that cannot be indulged in to excess. It 
stands by itself as the peculiar gift of God. It is the 
only art that is alike common to angels and to men. 
It has a wonderful compass and variety, and yet from 
the grandest to the simplest, it is all pleasing and all 
innocent. Every other pleasure can be carried to 
dissipation, but not music. 

The highest order of music is that which we never 
hear, but only read about and wonder. It is called 
the music of the spheres — the grand symphony that 
is made by the planets and other heavenly bodies 
coursing around the sun, and which Milton says is 
heard only by God and the angels. I don't suppose 
that such creatures as we are, afPiicted and limited 
with original sin, could bear that kind of music. The 
child that is charmed with a lullaby or soothed to 
sleep with "Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber," 
would be frightened at an oratorio from Handel. But 
musical taste is progressive, like every other good 
thing. 

The time was when I thought "Billy in the Low 
Grounds," and "Bonaparte Crossing the Rhine, "per- 
fectly splendid, but I don't now. I have advanced to 
(11) 



306 Bill Arp. 

a higher grade. By degrees the children have edu- 
cated me, and as they climb up, I climb a little, too. 
Time was when I thought ''Kathleen Mavourneen" 
the sweetest song, and my wife, whom I was courting, 
the sweetest singer in the world. But I don't now — 
that is, I mean the song. There are sweeter songs. 
I don't wish to be misunderstood about the singer. 
No doubt her voice has the same alluring, ensnaring, 
angelic, elysian sweetness it had forty years ago, more 
or less, but the fault is in me, for when a man has 
once been allured, and ensnared, and is getting old 
and deaf, he loses some of his gushing appreciation. 
Nevertheless, when her eldest daughter touches the 
ivory keys and sings Longfellow's beautiful hymn of 

" The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of night, ' ' 

my appreciation seems to come back, and it makes me 
calm and serene. 

There is nothing in all nature that so proves the 
goodness of God to his creatures as in giving to them 
the love of music and the faculty to make it. It is 
the cheapest and the most universal pleasure. Much 
of it costs nothing, for we hear it in the winds and 
waves, the trees, the waterfalls, and from birds and 
insects. It is of many kinds, from the pealing anthem 
that swells the note of praise in Westminster Abbey 
down to the plantation harmonies of the old-time dar- 
kies around the corn-pile. Between these extremes 
we have the music of the drama, the concert, the nur- 
sery, and the drawing-room. 



Bill Arp. 307 

I was having these thoughts because Mrs. Arp and 
the children were practicing some church music in the 
parlor, preparing for Sunday. Some of the family 
belong to the choir, and it is a good thing to belong to. 
Choirs have their little musical fusses sometimes, and 
get in the pouts; but, nevertheless, it is a good place 
to raise children. It makes them go to church and 
to Sunday-school, and go early, and if they are facing 
the congregation they have to keep awake and behave 
decently, and they do their best to look pretty and 
sing sweetly. I used to belong to the choir, and it 
was there Mrs. Arp saw me, and ever and anon heard 
the sweet strains of my melodious tenor voice. But, 
alas, that voice has changed to a bass at one end and a 
falsetto at the other, and "there's a melancholy crack 
in my laugh." 

Young man, young woman, if you have any gifts 
for music, you had better join the church choir, but if 
you haven't, don't. 

Sacred music is very much varied according to de- 
nominations. The Roman Catholic church is the old- 
est and richest and has the most passionate music and 
the finest organs, and embraces a rendering of such 
intense words as are found in the ''Angus Dei," and 
"Gloria in Excelsis," and the litany and chants of 
the old masters. The Protestant church has rejected 
the dramatic style and confined its music to hymns 
and psalms of sober temper, and in the main, has done 
away with the fugue and galloping style of one part 
chasing another through the vocal harmonies. 



308 * Bill Arp. 

I remember when it was the fashion, in fashionable 
choirs, to give one part several feet the start in the 
race, and the others would start later and overtake it 
before they all got to the end of the line. There is a 
hymn beginning, "I love to steal awhile away," and 
the tenor would start outwith "I love to steal" — and 
then the alto would prance up with ' ' I love to steal, ' ' 
and then the bass confessed the unfortunate frailty, 
'*I love to steal," and hurried on for fear the first 
man would steal it all before he got there. 

Sacred music is of very ancient origin. Indeed, it 
is older than the church or the temple, for we find 
that Moses sang a song when he had crossed the Red 
Sea, and he said, "I will sing a song unto the Lord, 
for he is my strength and my salvation," and when 
he finished his song, Miriam took it up, and she and 
her maidens sang and made music on timbrels. King 
David sang all through his psalms, and Isaiah not only 
sang, but wanted everything to sing, for he says: 
''Sing, oh ye heavens, for the Lord hath done it. 
Break forth into singing, oh ye mountains, for the 
Lord hath redeemed Israel." 

I was looking over this book that we are now using 
in our church, a new and beautiful book containing 
1,200 hymns, and a tune with written music to every 
hymn. Here are 360 authors of all Christian denom- 
inations. Of these, sixty-one are women, seventy are 
English Episcopalians, twenty are Scotch Presbyter- 
ians, and only eight are American Presbyterians. 
Eight are Methodists, ten are Baptist, fourteen are 



Bill Arp. 309 

Congregationalists, and five are Roman Catholics. 
The rest are Dissenters, Lutherans, Unitarians, Mora- 
vians, Quakers and Independents. Only fifty-four are 
Americans. Leaving out Isaac Watts and Charles 
Wesley, most of these hymns were composed by Eng- 
lish Episcopalians. Isaac Watts was the founder of 
hjnunology. One hundred and twenty-six of his 
hymns are in this book. He has been dead 142 years, 
but we are still singing: "Welcome, Sv^-eet Day of 
Rest," ''How Beauteous Are Their Feet," "When I 
Can Read My Title Clear," "Before Jehovah's Awful 
Throne," "Am I a Soldier of the Cross?" and many 
more of his composing. 

He was a very small man with a large soul. He 
was only five feet high, weighed less than a hundred 
pounds, and never married. His hymns are sung all 
over the Christian world. Our grand-parents and 
parents, ourselves and our children, have all treasured 
them and become familiar with them. 

Charles Wesley, a Methodist, has thirty-six hymns 
in this book — most of them inspired from his intense, 
absorbing love of the Savior — such as "Blow Ye the 
Trumpet, Blow, ' ' and ' ' Jesus, Lover of My Soul. ' ' He 
was a brother of John Wesley, the founder of Method- 
ism, and came to Georgia with him in 1735. 

Rev. John Newton has twenty-six hymns in this col- 
lection. What a strange, eventful life was his. Seized 
and impressed for a seaman on board a man-of-war 
when he was only nineteen years of age — deserted — 
was caught, and flogged, and degraded — deserted 



310 Bill Arp. 

again, and hired himself to a slave-trading vessel. 
Four years afterwards he went back to England and 
married Mary Catlett, the girl he had been loving for 
years. He then equipped a slaver of his own, and 
shipped negroes from Africa to the West Indies, and 
made a fortune. 

In a few years he became disgusted with the busi- 
ness, and studied mathematics, Latin, Greek and He- 
brew without a teacher. About that time Wesley and 
Whitfield began their great religious uprising, and he 
was converted and joined them and went to preaching. 
When eighty years old he preached three times a week, 
and when urged to stop on account of his feeble health, 
he replied: "What! Shall the old African negro 
trader and blasphemer stop while he can speak ? No ! ' ' 
No wonder that the great change inspired him to write 
those beautiful hymns : ' ' Amazing Grace ! How sweet 
the Sound ; ' " ' One There is Above All Others ; " " Glo- 
rious Things of Thee Are Spoken;" "Savior, Visit 
Thy Plantation." 

And next comes Cowper — the amiable, lovable, mis- 
erable Cowper — whose life was spent in alternating 
between hope and despair, and who was sent several 
times to the insane asylum. In his lucid intervals of 
hope he composed such hymns as ' ' Sometimes a Light 
Surprises," "There is a Fountain Filled With 
Blood;" "Oh, For a Closer Walk With God," and 
many others. 

James Montgomery, a Moravian, has twenty-three 
hymns in this book. His early life was full of trouble. 



Bill Arp. 311 

He was indicted, tried and imprisoned for writing a 
ballad on the fall of the bastile. Soon after his release 
he wrote an account of the riot at Sheffield, and was 
again imprisoned. The press had but little freedom 
in his day, but his gentle, earnest Chritsian character 
finally won for him the regard of his enemies, and he 
was granted a pension by the crown. There are no 
hymns in this book sweeter than his. Such, for in- 
stance, as "Oh, Where Shall Rest Be Found?" 
''Prayer is The Soul's Sincere Desire;" "People of 
The Living God," etc. 

Addison, too, that stately, polished writer of essays, 
found time and inclination to pay poetic tribute to his 
Maker. There is no poetry more majestic than the 
hymns beginning, "When All Thy Mercies, Oh, My 
God, ' ' and ' ' The Spacious Firmament On High. ' ' And 
next we have Heber, the gifted bishop of Calcutta, the 
Christian gentleman, who never knew a want, but, 
nevertheless, spent his life in charity and missionary 
work. His world-renowned hymn would have immor- 
talized him, if he had written nothing else. 

"From Greenland's Icy Mountains" still stands as 
the chief of all missionary hymns. He wrote others of 
exquisite beauty, such as "Brightest and Best of the 
Sons of the Morning" and "By Cool Siloam's Shady 
Rill." 

Then there were many other composers who did not 
write much, but wrote exceeding well. There is : 

"How Firm a Foundation," by George Keith; 
* ' Come, ye Disconsolate, ' ' by Thomas Moore, the poet 



312 Bill Arp. 

laureate of England; ''Awake, My Soul," by Medley; 
''Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing," by Robert 
Robinson. 

Rev. Augustus Toplady has several beautiful 
hymns, but none compare with his "Rock of Ages 
Cleft For Me. ' ' Sir William Gladstone, the great pre- 
mier of England, was so much impressed with this 
hymn that he has translated it into Latin and other 
languages. Of a later date we find, "Nearer, My 
God, to Thee," by Mrs. Adams, an English lady. 

The oldest hymn in the book was written by Thomas 
Sternhold, in 1549. He was groom to Henry VIII. The 
next oldest is well worth remembrance, for it was writ- 
ten in 1560 by Thomas Ken, and has but one verse, 
and that verse is sung oftener than any other verse in 
the world. Its first line is, "Praise God from Whom 
all Blessings Flow. ' ' If Thomas Ken is in the heaven- 
ly choir (and we believe he is), what serene comfort 
does his translated soul enjoy as it listens every Sab- 
bath to his own doxology as it goes up from a million 
voices and swells heavenward from thousands of or- 
gans all over Christendom ! 

Then we have hymns from Richard Baxter, who was 
chaplain to Charles II, and resisted the usurpation of 
Cromwell. 

And here we have hymns from Mrs. Charles, the 
gifted authoress of the Schonberg Cotta stories, and 
from William Cullen Bryant, our own poet laureate, 
and Francis S. Key, the author of the "Star Spangled 



Bill Arp. 313 

Banner, ' ' and from Mrs. Sigourney and John Dry den, 
another poet laureate of England, and Henry Kirk 
White, who died in his twenty-first year, but left as 
his monument "The Star of Bethlehem." Here, too, 
is the litany by Sir Eobert Grant. And here are many 
hymns from Dr. Muhlenberg, who wrote "I Would 
Not Live Always. ' ' 

And now, let me pause to remember that all these 
men and women are dead. Some have been dead three 
hundred years, some two hundred and very many one 
hundred, and some far less, but all are dead. But 
poetry outlives prose, and a song outlives a sermon. It 
is a comforting fact that most all of the famous poets 
have been Christian men and women, and have given 
to the church some of their sweetest and holiest 
thoughts in song. 

Dr. Oliver W. Holmes and John G. Whittier are 
both represented in this collection. 

But hymns without music lose half their beauty. 
They are like birds without wings — they cannot fly 
heavenward. 

And now if the choir congregation will enter into 
the spirit of these beautiful hymns and sing them with 
pure religious feeling, it will be acceptable praise. A 
song without inspiration is music, but it is not praise. 
Professional choirs who sing for pay seem to be sing- 
ing for men and not for God. Such singing is like the 
funerals that have hired mourners. When the tune 
fits the sentiment of the hymn, like it was all one crea- 



314 Bill Arp. 

tion of genius, it greatly enhances the beauty of both. 
The Coronation Hymn would not be half so popular if 
the coronation music were not set to it. And this is 
one reason why the oratorios of the great masters, such 
as Handel and Mozart, have never been excelled. They 
composed both the sentiment and the song. 



Bill Arp. 315 



CHAPTER XLII. 



The Autumn Leaves. 

The earliest fires of the fall 
• Have brightened up the room, 

The cat and dog and children all 
Have bid old winter come. 

The wind is running at the nose, 

The clouds are in a shiver; 
By day we want more warmer clothes, 

At night we want more kiver. 

When a farmer has laid by his crop and the seasons 
have been kind and the corn and cotton are maturing, 
and the sweet potato vines have covered the ground, 
what an innocent luxury it is to set in the piazza in the 
shade of evening with one's feet on the banisters, and 
contemplate the beauty and bounty of nature and the 
hopeful prospect of another year's support. It looks 
like that even an Ishmaelite might then feel calm and 
serene, and if he is still ungrateful for his abundant 
blessings he is worse than a heathen, and ought to be 
run out of a Christian's country. Every year brings 
toil and trouble and apprehension, but there always 
comes along rest and peace and the ripe fruits of one 's 
labors. 

Persimmons and 'possums are getting ripe. The 
May-pops have dropped from the vines. Chestnuts 



316 Bill Arp. 

and chinkapins are opening, and walnuts are covering 
the ground. Crawfish and frogs have gone into winter 
quarters — snakes and lizzards have bid us adieu. All 
nature is preparing for a winter's sleep — sleep for the 
trees, and grass and flowers. I like winter; not six 
long months of snow and ice and howling winds, but 
three months interspersed with sunny days and Indian 
summers. The Sunny South is the place for me, the 
region of mild and temperate climate, of lofty moun- 
tains and beautiful valleys, and fast-flowing streams. 
The region where the simoon nor the hurricane ever 
comes, and the streams do not become stagnant, nor the 
mosquito to sing his little song. I don't vv^ant to be 
snow-bound in winter, nor to fly from a fiery hurricane 
in summer; and it's curious to me that our Northern 
brethren don't bid farewell, a long farewell, to such a 
country and settle doAvn in this pleasant land. 

" The cricket chirrups on the hearth 
The crackling fagot flies. ' ' 

The air is cool and lovely. The family have 
peartined up, and everything is lovely around the 
farmer's comfortable fire. How invigorating is the 
first chilling breeze of coming winter. The hungry 
horses nicker for their corn; the cattle follow you 
around; the pesky pigs squeal at your feet, and this 
dependence of the brutes upon us for their daily 
food makes a man feel his consequence as he struts 
among them like a little king. The love of dominion 
is very natural. It provokes a kindliness of heart, and 



Bill Arp. 317 

if a man hasn't got anything else to lord it over it's 
some comfort to love and holler at his dog. I've seen 
the day when I strutted around among my darkies like 
a patriarch. I felt like I was running an unlimited 
monarchy on a limited scale. And Mrs. Arp felt that 
way too. Sometimes in my dreams I still hear the 
music of her familiar call, ''Becky, why don't you 
coi^ie along with that coal-hod ? " ' ' I 'se comin ', mam. ' ' 
"Rosanna, what in the world are you doing; ha vent 
you found that needle yetT' "I'se most found it, 
mam." Poor thing; patient and proud, she hunts her 
own needles now, and the coal-hod falls to me. 

But we still live, thank the good Lord, and are wor- 
rying through the checkered life as gracefully as possi- 
ble. "What 's the use of brooding over trouble when you 
can't help it? Sometimes, when a rainy day comes 
and all out-doors is wet and sloppy, and the dogs track 
mud in the piazza, and the children have to be penned 
up in the house, and everything is gloomy, we get sad 
and look on the dark side, and long for things we 
havent got. When the little chaps play hide and seek 
till they get tired, and shove the chairs around for 
cars and engines, and look at all the pictures, and cut 
up all the newspapers, and turn summersets on their 
little bed, and then get restless and whine around for 
freedom, Mrs. Arp opens her school and stands 'em up 
by the buro to say their lessons. 

''Now, Carl, let me see if you can say your psalm. 
Put your hands down and hold up your head. ' ' 



318 Bill Arp. 

' ' The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He 
— he— he— " 

' ' Let that fly alone, and put your hands down. He 
maketh me to lie down — " 

' ' He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He, 
he." 

"Quit pulling at that curtain. He leadeth me — " 

''He leadeth me. La, mamma, yonder comes a 
covered wagon. I speck it's got apples." 

' ' Carl, stand away from that windov/. If I take a 
switch to you I'll make you look after apple wagons. 
He leadeth me." 

' ' He leadeth me— in the house of the Lord forever. ' ' 

"Bless my soul, if he hasn't skipped over to the 
very end. Where are you going now?" 

' ' Mamma, I want a drink of water — mamma, please 
give me and Jessie an apple." 

"No, sir, you shan't smell of an apple. Every 
time I try to teach you something you want water, or 
an apple, or go to catching flies. I wish I had that 
switch that's up on the clock." 

" I '11 get it for you, ' ' said I. 

"No you needent, either. Just go on with your 
writing. I wish you would let me manage the chil- 
dren. All the learning they ever get I have to ding 
dong it into 'em. When I want the switch I can get 
it. Here, Jessie, come and say your verses." 

And Jessie goes through with "Let dogs delight" 
like a daisy. 



Bill Arp. 319 

Oil, she's as smart as a steel trap — just like her 
mother. I wish you could see Mrs. Arp's smile when 
some other woman comes along and norates the smart 
sayings of her juvenile. 

"Ain't it strange," says she to me, ''how blinded 
most mothers are about their children. Mrs. Trotter 
thinks her Julia a world's wonder, but Jessie says 
things every day a heap smarter, and I never thought 
anything about it." 

"Jesso," says I; "children are shore to be smart 
when they have a smart mother. Their meanness all 
comes from the old man." 

But the rainy days don't last forever. Sunshine 
follows cloud and storm and darkness. In the jour- 
ney of life the mountains loom up before us, and they 
look high and steep and rugged, but somehow they 
always disappear just before we get to them, and 
then we can look back and feel ashamed that we 
borrowed so much trouble and had so much anxiety 
for nothing. What a great pile of miserable fears we 
build up every day. It's good for a man to rumi- 
nate over it and resolve to have more faith in Provi- 
dence, and I am ruminating now, for I went to town 
to-day to attend a little court that had my tenant's 
cotton money all tangled up by the lawyers, and I 
never expected to get my share, but I did and I feel 
happy. Mrs. Arp had told the children she would 
like to go and do some shopping for them, but she 
knew that I was so poor and they would have to do 
without. 



30 Bill Arp. 

So when I came home and found her stitching away 
with a sad expression on her countenance, I pulled 
out the twenty-two dollars of cotton money, and as- 
suming a pathetic attitude exclaimed : 

'' Turn, Angelina, ever dear. 
My charmer, turn to see 
Thine own, thy long-lost William here, 
Eestored to Heaven and thee. ' ' 

And I laid the shining silver in her lap. In about 
two minutes everything was calm and serene, and we 
had music that night and Mrs. Arp played on the 
piano and sang some of the songs of her girlhood. It 's 
most astounding what a little money can do. 



Bill Arp. 321 



CHAPTEH XLIII. 



Uncle Tom Barker. 

Uncle Tom Barker was mucli of a man. He had 
been wild and reckless, and feared not God nor re- 
garded man, but one day at a campmeeting, while 
Bishop Gaston was shaking up the sinners and scorch- 
ing them over the infernal pit, Tom got alarmed, and 
before the meeting was over he professed religion and 
became a zealous, outspoken convert, and declared his 
intention of going forth into the world and preaching 
the gospel. Pie was terribly in earnest, for he said 
he had lost a power of time and must make it up. 
Tom was a rough talker, but he was a good one, and 
knew right smart of " scrip ter," and a good many of 
the old-fashioned hymns by heart. The conference 
thought he was a pretty good fellow to send out into 
the border countrj^ among the settlers, and so Tom 
straddled his old flea-bitten gray, and in due time was 
circuit riding in North Mississippi. 

In course of time Tom acquired notoriety, and from 
his strong language and stronger gestures, and his 
muscular eloquence, they called him old "Sledge 
Hammer," and after awhile, "Old Sledge," for short. 
Away down in one corner of his territory there was 
a blacksmith shop and a wagon shop and a whisky 
shop and a post-office at Bill Jones's cross-roads; and 



322 Bill Arp. 

Bill kept all of them, and was known far and wide as 
*' Devil Bill Jones," so as to distinguish him from 
'Squire Bill the magistrate. Devil Bill had sworn 
that no preacher should ever toot a horn or sing a 
hymn in the settlement, and if any of the cussed hypo- 
crites ever dared to stop at the crossroads, he'd make 
him dance a hornpipe and sing a hymn, and whip 
him besides. And Bill Jones meant just what he 
said, for he had a mortal hate for the men of God. 
It was reasonably supposed that Bill could and would 
do what he said, for his trade at the anvil had made 
him strong, and everybody knew that he had as much 
brute courage as was necessary. And so Uncle Tom 
was advised to take roundance and never tackle the 
cross-roads. He accepted this for a time, and left the 
people to the bad influence of Devil Bill ; but it seemed 
to him he was not doing the Lord's will, and when- 
ever he thought of the women and children living in 
darkness and growing up in infidelity, he would 
groan. 

One night he prayed over it with great earnestness, 
and vowed to do the Lord's will if the Lord would 
give him light, and it seemed to him as he rose from 
his knees that there was no longer any doubt — he 
must go. Uncle Tom never dallied about anything 
when his mind was made up. He went right at it like 
killing snakes; and so next morning as a ''nabor" 
passed on his way to Bill's shop. Uncle Tom said: 

''My friend, will you please carry a message to 
Bill Jones for me ? Do you tell him that if the Lord 



Bill Arp. 323 

is willin', I will be at the cross-roads to preach next 
Saturday at eleven o'clock, and I am shore the Lord 
is willin'. Tell him to please 'norate' it in the set- 
tlement about, and ax the women and children to 
come. Tell Bill Jones I will stay at his house, God 
willin', and I'm shore he's willin', and I'll preach 
Sunday, too, if things git along harmonious." 

When Bill Jones got the message he was amazed, 
astounded, and his indignation knew no bounds. He 
raved and cursed at the "onsult," as he called it — 
the "onsulting massage of 'Old Sledge' " — and he 
swore that he would hunt him up, and whip him, for 
he knowed that he wouldn't dare to come to the 
cross-roads. 

But the ''nabors" whispered it around that "Old 
Sledge" would come, for he was never known to 
make an appointment and break it ; and there was an 
old horse thief who used to run with Murrel's gang, 
who said he used to know Tom Barker when he was 
a sinner and had seen him fight, and he was much of 
a man. 

So it spread like wild-fire that "Old Sledge" was 
coming, and Devil Bill was "gwine" to whip him 
and make him dance and sing a "hime," and treat 
to a gallon of peach brandy besides. 

Devil Bill had his enemies, of course, for he was 
a hard man, and one way or another had gobbled up 
all the surplus of the "naborhood," and had given 
nothing in exchange but whiskey, and these enemies 
had long hoped for somebody to come and turn him 



324 Bill Arp. 

down. They, too, eireulatecl the astounding}: news, 
and, without committing themselves to either party, 
said that h — 11 would break loose on Saturday at the 
cross-roads, and that ' ' Old Sledge ' ' or the devil would 
have to go under. 

On Friday the settlers began to drop into the cross- 
roads under pretense of business, but really to get 
the bottom facts of the rumors that v/ere afloat. 

Devil Bill knew full well what they came for, and 
he talked and cursed more furiously than usual, and 
swore that anybody who vv'^ould come expecting to see 
"Old Sledge" tomorrow was an infernal fool, for he 
wasn't a-coming. He laid bare his strong arms and 
shook his long hair and said he wished the l^^ing, de- 
ceiving hypocrite v/ould come, for it had been nigh 
onto fourteen years since he had made a preacher 
dance. 

Saturday morning by nine o 'clock the settlers began 
to gather. They came on foot, and on horseback, and 
in carts — men, women and children, and before eleven 
o'clock there were more people at the crossroads than 
had ever been there before. Bill Jones was mad at 
their credulity, but he had an eye to business and 
kept behind his counter and sold more whiskey in an 
hour than he had sold in a month. As the appointed 
hour drew near the settlers began to look down the 
long, straight road that "Old Sledge" would come, 
if he came at all, and every man whose head came in 
sight just over the rise of the distant hill was closely 
scrutinized. 



Bill Aep. 325 

More than once they said, ''Yonder he comes — that's 
him, shore." But no, it wasn't him. 

Some half a dozen had old bull's-eye silver watches, 
and they compared time, and just at 10:55 o'clock 
the old horse thief exclaimed : 

"I see Tom Barker a risin' of the hill. I hain't 
seed him for eleven years, but, gintlemen, that ar' 
him, or I'm a liar." 

And it was him. 

As he got nearer and nearer, a voice seemed to be 
coming with him, and some said, ''He's talkin' to 
himself," another said, "He's a talkin' to God Al- 
mighty," and another said, "I'll be durned if he 
ain't a praying;" but very soon it was decided that 
he was "singin' of a hime." 

Bill Jones was advised of all this, and, coming up 
the front, said: "Darned if he ain't singing before 
I axed him, but I'll make him sing another tune 
until he is tired. I'll pay him for his onsulting mes- 
sage. I'm not a-gwine to kill him, boys. I'll leave 
life in his rotton old carcass, but that's all. If any 
of you 'ens want to hear 'Old Sledge' preach, you'll 
have to go ten miles from the road to do it." 

Slowly and solemnly the preacher came. As he 
drew near he narrowed down his tune and looked 
kindly upon the crowd. He was a massive man in 
frame, and had a heavy suit of dark brown hair, but 
his face was clean shaved, and showed a nose and 
lips and chin of great firmness and great determina- 
tion. 



326 Bill Arp. 

^'Look at him, boys, and mind your eye," said the 
horse thief. 

"Where will I find my friend, Bill Jones?" in- 
quired "Old Sledge." 

All round they pointed him to the man. 

Riding up close, he said: "My friend and brother, 
the good Lord has sent me to you, and I ask your 
hospitality for myself and beast," and he slowly dis- 
mounted and faced his foe as though expecting a 
kind reply. 

The crisis had come, and Bill Jones met it. 

"You infernal old hypocrite ; you cussed old shaved- 
faced scoundrel; didn't you know that I had swored 
an oath that I would make you sing and dance, and 
whip you besides if you ever dared to pizen these 
cross-roads with your shoe-tracks? Now, sing, d — n 
you, sing, and dance as you sing, ' ' and he emphasized 
his command with a ringing slap with his open hand 
upon the parson's face. 

* ' Old Sledge ' ' recoiled with pain and surprise. 

Recovering in a moment, he said: 

"Well, Brother Jones, I did not expect so warm a 
welcome, but if this be your crossroads manners, I 
suppose I must sing;" and as Devil Bill gave him 
another slap on his other jaw, he began with: 
** My soul, be on thy guard." 

And with his long arm he suddenly and swiftly 
gave Devil Bill an open hander that nearly knocked 
him off his feet, while the parson continued to sing 
in a splendid tenor voice : 



Bill Arp. 327 

' ' Ten thousand foes arise. ' ' 
Never was a lion more aroused to frenzy than was 
Bill Jones. With his powerful arm he made at "Old 
Sledge" as if to annihilate him with one blow, and 
many horrid oaths, but the parson fended off the 
stroke as easily as a practised boxer, and with his left 
hand dealt Bill a settler on his peepers, as he contin- 
ued to sing: 

' ' Oh, watch, and fight, and pray, 
The battle ne 'er give o 'er. ' ' 

But Jones was plucky to desperation, and the set- 
tlers were watching with bated breath. The crisis 
was at hand, and he squared himself and his clenched 
fists flew thick and fast upon the parson's frame, and 
for awhile disturbed his equilibrium and his song. 
But he rallied quickly and began the defensive, as he 
sang: 

' ' Ne 'er think the victory won, 
Nor lay thine armor down " 

He backed his adversary squarely to the wall of his 
shop, and seized him by the throat, and mauled him 
as he sang : 

'' Fight on, my soul, till death — " 

Well, the long and short of it was, that "Old 
Sledge ' ' whipped him and humbled him to the ground, 
and then lifted him up and helped to restore him, 
and begged a thousand pardons. 

When Devil Bill had retired to his house and was 
being cared for by his wife, "Old Sledge" mounted 
a box in front of the grocery and preached righteous- 



328 Bill Arp. 

ness and temperance, and judgment to come, to that 
people. 

He closed his solemn discoure with a brief history 
of his own sinful life before his conversion and his 
humble work for the Lord ever since, and he besoue^ht 
his hearers to stop and think — "Stop, poor sinner, 
stop and think/' he cried in alarming tones. 

There were a few men and many women in that 
crowd whose eyes, long unused to the melting mood, 
dropped tears of repentance at the preacher's kind 
and tender exhortation. Bill Jones's wife, poor wo- 
man, had crept humbly into the outskirts of the 
crowd, for she had long treasured the memories of 
her childhood, when she, too, had gone with her good 
mother to hear preaching. In secret she had pined 
and lamented her husband's hatred for religion and 
preachers. After she had washed the blood from his 
swollen face and dressed his wounds she asked him if 
she might go down and hear the preacher. For a 
minute he was silent and seemed to be dumb with 
amazement. He had never been whipped before and 
had suddenly lost confidence in himself and his in- 
fidelity. 

''Go 'long, Sally," he answered, "if he can talk 
like he can fight and sing, maybe the Lord did send 
him. It's all mighty strange to me," and he groaned 
in anguish. His animosity seemed to have changed 
into an anxious, Avondering curiosity, and after Sally 
had gone, he left his bed and drew near to the win- 
dow where he could hear. 



Bill Arp. 329 

"Old Sledge" made an earnest, soul-reacMng 
prayer, and his pleading with the Lord for Bill Jones's 
salvation and that of his wife and children reached the 
window where Bill was sitting, and he heard it. His 
wife returned in tears and took a seat beside him, and 
sobbed her heart's distress, but said nothing. Bill 
bore it for awhile in thoughtful silence, and then put- 
ting his bruised and trembling hand in hers, said: 
''Sally, if the Lord sent 'Old Sledge' here, and 
maybe he did, I reckon you had better look after his 
horse." And sure enough "Old Sledge" stayed 
there that night and held family prayer, and the next 
day he preached from the piazza to a great multitude, 
and sang his favorite hymn: 

'' Am I a soldier of the Cross?" 

And when he got to the third verse his untutored 
but musical voice seemed to be lifted a little higher 
as he sang: 

' ' Sure I must fight if I would reign, 
Increase my courage, Lord. ' ' 

Devil Bill was converted and became a changed 
man. Lie joined the church, and closed his grocery 
and helped to build a meeting house, and it was al- 
ways said and believed that "Old Sledge" mauled 
the grace into his unbelieving soul, and it never would 
have got in any other way. 



330 Bill Arp. 

I 

CHAPTER XLIV. 



Bill Arp on Josh Billings. 

Josh Billings is dead, and the world will miss him. 
He was a success in his way, and it was not a bad 
way. He did no harm. He did much good, for he 
gave a passing pleasure and gave it frequently, and 
left the odor of good precepts that lingered with us. 
He was Aesop and Ben Franklin, condensed and 
abridged. His quaint phonetic spelling spiced his 
maxims and proverbs, and made them attractive. It 
is curious how we are attracted by the wise, pithy 
sayings of an unlettered man. It is the contrast be- 
tween his mind and his culture. We like contrasts 
and we like metaphors and striking comparisons. The 
more they are according to nature and everyday life, 
the better they please the masses. The cultured schol- 
ar will try to impress by saying "facilis decensus 
averni/' but Billings brings the same idea nearer 
home when he says, "When a man starts down hill, 
it looks like everything is greased for the occasion." 
We can almost see the fellow sliding down. It is an 
old thought that has been dressed up fine for centur- 
ies, and suddenly appears in everyday clothes. Wise 
men tell us that the people do not think for themselves, 
but follow their leaders in politics and religion. That 
is true, and it is tame and old. But when I asked the 



Bill Arp. 331 

original Bill Arp how he was going to vote he said 
he couldn't tell me until he saw Colonel Johnson, 
and Colonel Johnson wouldn't know until he talked 
to Judge Underwood, and Judge Underwood wouldn't 
know until he heard from Aleck Stephens. ''But 
who tells Aleck Stephens how to vote?" ''I'll be 
dogged if I know." Well, that was the same old 
truth, but it was undressed, and therefore more forci- 
ble. The philosophic theory has come down to a 
homely fact. 

Some years ago I met Mr. Shaw in New York, at 
Carleton's book store. I did not know that he was 
Josh Billings. In fact I had forgotten Billings' real 
name, and I thought this man was a Methodist preach- 
er. He looked like one, a very solemn one. His long 
hair was parted in the middle and silvered with gray. 
His face was heavily bearded, his eyes well set and his 
mouth drooped at the corners. We sat facing each 
other for a few moments, when suddenly he leaned 
forward and said: "Friend Arp, say something." 
I knew then that Mr. Carleton had surprised me and 
that this was Billings, for he had told me that his 
friend Billings was going to call. We soon got 
friendly and familiar, and suddenly he inquired, 
"How is my friend, Big John?" "Dead," said I. 
' ' And how is that faithful steer ? ' ' said he. ' ' Dead, ' ' 
I replied. With a mock sorrow he wiped his eyes and 
remarked, "Hence these tears." (Steers.) 

While we were talking, a lad of the house came 
back and said there was a man in a balloon and we 



332 Bill Arp. 

could see him from the front. We all went forward 
and we watched the daring aeronaut soar away until 
he was out of sight, and we took seats near the door. 
Billings heaved a sigh and said, "I feel very bad, 
my friends. That sight distresses me." We asked 
him why, and he said, ''It carries me back to the 
scenes of my early youth, and reminds me of a sad 
event. ' ' We waited a moment for him to recover from 
his depression, and he said: "I was an indolent, 
trifling boy. I wouldn't work and I wouldn't study 
at school. I had a longing to get away from home 
and go West. Most everybody was going West, and 
so one morning my father said to me: 'Henry, I 
reckon you had better go. You are not doing any 
good here.' And so he gave me ten dollars and a 
whole lot of advice, and my mother fixed me up a 
little bundle of clothes and I started. That money 
lasted me until I got away out to Illinois, for I worked 
a little along the way to pay for lodging and vittels, 
but at last it was all gone, and my shoes were worn 
out, and when I got to a little village one afternoon 
I was homesick and friendless, and I didn't know 
what to do next. I noticed that the people were all 
going one way, and they told me they w^ere going out 
to the suburbs to see a man go up in a balloon. So I 
followed the crowd, and when I got there I saw a dirty 
little Italian sitting down on an old, dingy balloon, 
and there was a fellow going around with a hat in 
his hand trying to make up ten dollars. The little 
Italian said he would go up for that money. But 



Bill Arp. 333 

the fellow couldn't make it. lie counted the money 
and had only six dollars and a half, and so he gave 
it up, and was about to give the money back when I 
thought I saw my opportunity. I was sorry for the 
Italian and sorry for myself, and so I whispered to 
him and asked him if he would give me all over ten 
dollars that I could make up and he said "Yes, all 
over eight dollars.' Well, I had the gift of speech 
pretty lively, and I went round and round among 
the folks and told them hov/ this poor, little, sunburnt 
son of Italy came three thousand miles from his home 
to minister to their pleasure and put his life in peril, 
and it was a shame that we couldn't make him up the 
pitiful sum of ten dollars. I soon got the crowd in 
a good humor, and in about five minutes I had made 
up eighteen dollars. I felt proud and happy, and 
said: 'Now, my friend, fire up,' and I helped him to 
fire up. The old balloon was patched and leaky, and 
I thought it v/ould burst before we got ready, for we 
piled the gas in heavy. Before long the little chap 
was in the basket, and v/e cut the ropes and away 
she went. It was a calm, still day in June — not a 
breath of air to drift the balloon from a perpendic- 
ular. Up, up, she went, growing smaller and smaller, 
until finally she was but a tiny speck in the zenith. 
We nearly broke our necks looking at it, and sure 
enough in a few minutes more she was gone. Not a 
spy-glass could find it. We watched all the evening 
for the little fellow to come back in sight, but he never 
came. The shades of night came over us, but no 



334 Bill Arp. 

Italian. The crowd dispersed one by one until all 
were gone but me, for I was his friend and treasurer, 
you know. Next morning he was still missing, and all 
that day we made inquiries from the surrounding 
country, but no Italian and no balloon, and from that 
day to this good hour he has never been heard from. 
I have felt a heavy weight of responsibility about 
him, for I fear I put in too much gas. My hope is 
that he went dead straight to heaven. I have his 
money in my bank, and it is drawing interest.** 

And Josh wiped away another pretended tear of 
grief. 

He was a companionable man and talked without 
a strain. When he visited our little cit}^ of Rome our 
people gave him a glad welcome, for he had been long 
ministering to their pleasure, and in all his great and 
curious utterances he had never written a line that 
shoAved prejudice or malignity to our people or our 
section. 

Peace be to his ashes and honor to his memory. 



Bill Arp. 335 



CHAPTER XLV. 



The Code Duello. 

They are the funniest things — these duels. They 
are both funny and fantastic. They beat a circus — 
that is to say the newspaper pictures of them beat 
the circus pictures, and it is reasonable to suppose 
that the antics of the performers are more ludicrous 
than the clown and the monkeys and the trick horse 
combined. I would like to be up in a tree and see 
a duel — no I wouldent either. It would be safer to be 
in front of one of the performers. Sometimes I think 
that these little affairs of honor are just gotten up 
to amuse the public, and they are a success in that 
way. They beat Sullivan and Kilrain in the wind up, 
and the only objection is we don't know about it un- 
til the show is all over. We don't have a chance to 
take sides and bet on anybody, and if we did we 
wouldent win or lose, for it is always a draw — nobody 
hurt, wonderful pluck, amazing heroism, magnanimous 
conduct, noble bearing, amicable adjustment, but no- 
body hurt; that's what's the matter. When it leaks 
out that a great show is coming, the people want it 
to come. If a hanging is advertised, it is an outrage 
if somebody don't hang. If a duel has to be fought 
to preserve honor, the public want some blood. Hon- 
or or death, honor or crippled, honor or hit some- 



336 Bill Arp. 

where. But this sidewiping around and fixing up 
the thing on a wood-pile, or, "I'll retreat if you'll 
retreat," or, ''I dident mean what you thought I 
meant," don't satisfy the public. 

Some years ago one of our notable men called 
another of our notable men a thief and he got chal- 
lenged for it, and we thought there was blood on the 
moon, but mutual friends interposed and he retracted 
by saying he dident mean that he was a personal 
thief, but an official thief, and that was satisfactory 
and the affair was honorably adjusted. 

When an affair of honor is settled nowadays we 
can't find out who whipped the fight — who was right 
and who was wrong. The whole matter is left so mys- 
tified that the stakeholders won't pay the money. In 
fact it is sometimes hard to tell from the newspapers 
who were doing the fighting, the principals or the 
seconds, or an amateur performer who recklessly 
rushed in where angels fear to tread. 

** The combat thickens — on ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave. ' ' 

Awful scene — terrific beyond expression. It re- 
minds me of a little Frenchman who was prancing 
around the hotel in St. Louis and had a litle impu- 
dent terrier dog following him about. The dog gave 
just cause of offense to a big whiskered Kentuckian 
who was talking to a friend, and v/ith a sudden swing 
of his boot he sent the animal a rod or two out in the 
street. Quick as lightning the Frenchman danced up 
to Kentuck, and with violent gesticulations exclaimed : 



Bill Arp. 337 

"Vat for you keek nion lee tie tog? Yot for, me say? 
Here is mine card. I demand de sateesfaesheon of 
de shenteel mon. " The Kentiiekian seized him gently 
by the nap of the neck and lifted him bodily to the 
door and gave him a kick outward, and then walked 
back and resumed his conversation. 

The Frenchman spied an acquaintance who was 
passing, and rushing up to him poured out this his- 
tory : ' ' Vot you call des American honeur. He keek 
mon leetle tog and I geeve heem mine card and de- 
mond de sateesfacshun of de genteelhomme, de satees- 
f acshun of de sword or de peestole — dear to de French- 
man 's heart. You tinks he geeve him to me. No sare 
— no time, but mon Dieu, he leef me up by de collare 
— he speen me roun and roun like I vas von tom top 
and keek me more harder than de leetle tog. Yot you 
calls dot, American honeur ? Bah ! I go pack to La 
Belle France and hoonts up some American and fights 
him. I will have de satisf acshun — begor." 

If retractions are to be made they should be very 
explicit. It is related of John Randolph that he ex- 
pressed his contempt of a man by saying of him that 
he wasn't fit to carry — offal to a bear. A reU^axit 
was demanded or a fight, and he promptly responded 
that he would now say that the gentleman was fit to 
carry — offal to a bear. This proved satisfactory and 
goes to show how small a retraxit will satisfy wounded 
honor. But it seems to be a matter of great nicety 
as to the time when the retraxit shall be made. Among 
all gentlemen it is admitted that an apology should 

(12) 



338 Bill Arp. 

be made just as soon as the gentleman lias discovered 
that he has done another gentleman an injury or has, 
without just cause, wounded his feelings; but these 
mysterious affairs of honor are very slow about such 
things, and the retraxits are not allowed to be made 
until a challenge has passed and the seconds chosen 
and the pistols loaded and everything got in readiness 
for a fight. Then the retraxit is in order and the 
honorable adjustment. The whole thing is methodi- 
cal, to say the least of it. It is like a bill in equity 
that has nine parts, and there is the accusation and 
the rejoinder and the surrejoinder and other mys- 
teries. The fact is, considering the funny and fan- 
tastic and harmless character of most of the modern 
duels, I think that justice's court would be the best 
tribunal wherein to settle such matters. The first 
case I ever had was a case in justice court, where 
I was emploj^ed to defend a man who was sued for 
thirty dollars worth of slander because he had accused 
his nabor of stealing his hog and changing the mark 
from an underbit in the right ear to a swallow fork 
in the left. After the joinder and the rejoinder and 
the surrejoinder the jury retired to a log and event- 
ually brought in this verdict: "We, the jury, find 
for the plaintiff two dollars and fifty cents unless 
the defendant will take back what he said." I have 
always thought that was a just verdict, and if ever 
any fool sends me a challenge I shall propose to leave 
the matter to a jury in a justice court. They always 
give a man a chance without his having to practice 



Bill Arp. 339 

with pistols on a tree. It is a strange thing how a 
man can hit the bull's eye on a tree every pop but 
can't hit a man one time in five, and yet be perfectly 
cool and calm and serene all the time. 

The books say that duelling originated in the super- 
stitious ages when it was believed that the fates or 
the gods were on the side of truth and justice, and 
always avenged the man who had been Vv^ronged. The 
philosophers declared that there was a mysterious 
connection between honor and courage and between 
courage and the nervous system, and that when a man 
was in the wrong his courage wavered, and his nerves 
became unsteady, and so he couldn't fight to advan- 
tage and was easily overcome by his adversary. There 
may be something in this, but not a great deal, for 
we do know that the professional duelist is gener- 
ally in the wrong and generally whips the fight. In 
fact, the wrong man has most generally been killed in 
all the fatal duels of modern times. During the past 
century duelling has had its chief support from the 
army and the navy, where chivalry seems to have cen- 
tered. They talk about chivalry as though they be- 
longed to some knightly order like unto the olden times 
when Don Quixote mounted his flea-bitten gray and 
sallied forth and charged a windmill with a lance 
about twenty feet long. The word chivalry comes 
from "cheval," a horse, and so if a man was not 
mounted there was no chance to be chivalrous. A 
seat in a buggy won't do at all. It won't churn up 
heroism like the canter of a horse. That was called 



340 Bill Arp. 

the ' ' fantastic age of famished honor, ' ' for honor was 
said to be always hungry for a fight with somebodj^ 
and the knights started out periodically to provoke 
difficulties. Happy for us that this age has passed 
away and the knights are unhorsed, but unhappily for 
us, like the comet, a portion of its tail still lingers 
in the land, and ever and anon some valiant knight 
shows up and strikes his breast and exclaims : ' ' Mine 
honor, sir, mine honor!" Right then I want to rush 
to his relief and give him a sharpened pole and 
mount him on some "Rosinante" and escort him to 
one of these modern windmills that are built to pump 
water and tell him to charge it until his honor is 
satisfied. Most of these chivalric gentlemen have a 
very vague, indefinite idea of what honor is and where 
it is located. Hudibras throws some light upon the 
seat of honor when he tells of a man who was ' ' kicked 
in the place where honor is lodged, ' ' and he says : 

'' A kick right there hurts houor more 
Than deeper wounds when kicked before. ' ' 

This locates honor in the background, where we will 
leave it. 

Honor is like the chameleon. It takes any color 
that suits its surroundings. Aaron Burr challenged 
Hamilton in order to preserve his honor, and yet he 
was a traitor, an enemy of Washington, a libertine, 
and boasted of his amours and his intrigues. If a 
man is going to fight for his honor he should be sure 
that he has not tarnished it b}^ his own dishonoi^able 
conduct. If a man is a thief or a swindler or an ex- 
tortioner or a libertine or a blackmailer, he has no 



Bill Arp. 341 

right to challenge a man for calling him a liar. Hon- 
or is a very broad quality and does not split up in 
parts. It makes up the complete gentleman in all his 
conduct; though a man may not have told a lie, yet 
he may have no honor to defend, for he had lost it 
all in other vices. When a man can look his fellow 
men in the face and say, ''Wliom have I defrauded 
or whom have I wronged or from whom have I taken 
a bribe ? ' ' then let him fight for his honor if he wants 
to. 

But the average man who has made his money by 
ways that are dark and tricks that are vain, or who 
has used deceit, dishonesty, hypocrisy or oppression 
in gaining his ends, has no right to send or accept 
a challenge to mortal combat. He must stand fair 
and square before the people if he expects their sym- 
pathy. If he fights of course it is out of respect to 
public opinion, for no two men would fight if they 
were on an island by themselves. And this proves 
the duelist a coward, the worst kind of a coward, for 
he has more regard for public opinion than he has 
for himself or his family or his friends or his Maker. 
He knows that a duel proves nothing and settles 
nothing, and yet he deliberately lets public opinion 
outweigh his wife and his children, and worse than 
all he puts his soul in reach of the devil. From every 
moral standpoint he is a fool and a coward and could 
be convicted of lunacy in any court, and ought to be. 
Lord, help us all — when will this foolishness stop? 
The law is against it. Public opinion is against it. 
Common sense is against it, and so is Immanit}^ and 



342 Bill Arp. 

morality. Public opinion says that every snch case 
lowers our moral standard at home and belittles us 
abroad. Public opinion doesn't care a snap for the 
duel or the duelist. Duels prove nothing. They es- 
tablish no man's character for truth or integrity. 
They give him no better credit in bank, no more 
friends in business. Among decent people he is 
looked upon as a partial outlaw, and they shrink from 
his society for fear of offending him. His code of 
morals and his peculiar sense of honor is a silent in- 
sult to them, as though he had said: "I move in a 
higher plane than you common folks. I am a man 
of honor — a gentleman." He has been engaged in a 
dishonorable business and he knows it, for he has had 
to skulk around in the night and hide and dodge like 
a thief. He does not dare to fight on the genial, lov- 
ing soil of his own State, for that would disfranchise 
him, and so he seeks some other. In fact, the w^hole 
thing would be as funny as a farce if nobody was 
concerned but the principals and their seconds. But 
there are parents and wives and children and friends, 
and hence the deep concern. Then let us have more 
peace and less foolishness. Let a man take part in no 
show that he has to keep secret from his wife or his 
children. Let him undertake no peril that his 
preacher couldn't approve with a parting prayer and 
benediction. In fact, I have always w^ondered why 
the preacher was not taken along as well as the sur- 
geon, for where the devil is the man of God ought to 
have an equal chance to capture an immortal soul. 



Bill Arp. 343 



CHAPTER XL VI. 



"Billy in the Low Grounds.. 

Write, my child — write something to The Consti- 
tution. I don't care what. I am too nervous. I 
can't think my own thoughts. It is perfectly horrible 
— awful, but I reckon it's all right. I reckon so. I 
wish there was not a tooth in my head. When they 
come, they come with pain and peril, and keep the 
poor child miserable, and when they go they go with 
a torture that no philosoph}^ can endure. Oh, my 
poor jaw — just look how it is swollen. I am a sight. 
A pitiful prospect. I look like a bloated bond-holder 
on one side of my face and no bonds to comfort me. 
I wonder what would comfort a man in my fix. I 
have suffered more mortal agony from my teeth than 
from everything else put together. Samson couldn't 
pull them, hardly, for they are all riveted to the jaw- 
bone. I have been living in dread for a month, for 
I knew that eyetooth was fixing up trouble; and so 
yesterday morning it sprung a leak at the breakfast 
table and I jumped out of my chair. The shell caved 
in, the nerve was touched, and in my agony I gave 
one groan and retired like I was a funeral. Five 
miles from town and no doctor. Don't put down 
what I suffered all that day, and the night following, 
for you can't. Mush poultices and camphor and pare- 



344 Bill Arp. 

goric and bromide and cliloroform, and still the pro- 
cession moved on, and the jumping, throbbing agony 
sent no flag of truce — no cessation of hostilities. 
What do I care for anything? Don't tell me about 
Hendricks being in Atlanta. I don't care where he 
is. Yes, I do. He is a good man, but I've got no 
time to think about him now. Please give me some 
more of that camphor. I've burned all the skin off 
my mouth now, but it is a counter-irritant and sorter 
scatters the pain around. If I had some morphine I 
would take it, for I want rest. I am tired. Oh, for 
one short hour of rest. 

Write something, my daughter — write to The Con- 
stitution and explain. Tell them I am "Billy in the 
low grounds." I am suffering and want sympathy. 
Write a note to the doctor, and tell him to come, 
come quick. I can't go through another night. Oh, 
my country. Let me try that hot iron again. I'll 
cook this old fat jaw outside and inside. I wish I 
had no tongue, for I can't keep it from touching the 
plagued tooth. Just look at my gums, they have 
swelled up so you can hardly see the old tooth. Give 
me a knife and the hand glass. I'll see if I can't 
let some blood out of these strutting gums. I am so 
nervous I can't hardly hold the knife, but here she 
goes. Oh, my country. Now give me the camphor 
and I '11 let it burn in a new place. 

Just write a line to The Constituiion', I dont care 
what — say I am sick. I wonder if the doctor will 
come. He will kill me, I know. It is awful to think 



Bill Arp. 345 

of cold steel clamping this tooth and being jammed 
away up on these gums. I'll take chloroform, I 
reckon, for I can't stand it. I am afraid he will 
come. I want him and I don't want him. The last 
tooth I had pulled I went to the dentist's office like 
a hero, and I was glad he wasn't in — glad his door 
was locked — and for two more days I endured my 
agony, and then had to have it pulled at last. And 
he pulled me all to pieces, and the chloroform left 
me before he got done, and I had an awful time. The 
memory of it is excruciating, and yet I have got to 
go through with the same thing again. "Oh, the 
pity of it, lago, the pity of it,." What has a man 
got teeth for, I w^ould like to know. It is the brute 
that is in him, the dog, or the old Adam that evoluted 
from the monkeys. There is nothing God-like about 
teeth. They bite, that is all. They are called "ca- 
nines." I saw a man bite another man's nose off, 
once — the teeth did it. The eye is God-like, angelic, 
beautiful, harmless. The ear is a good thing, too, for 
it takes in the harmonies of nature and makes music 
sweet — music, that is the only thing common to an- 
gels and men. The nose is gentle and ornamental, 
but it is not of much consequence except to blow off 
a bad cold and tell the difference between cologne and 
codfish. But the teeth — well, I think that false ones 
are better than the genuine, for they never ache. I 
don't care for any, now. I am tired. These women 
can have eight or ten pulled at one time — just to get 
a new set. How in the world do they stand it? 



346 Bill Arp. 

Pride, I reckon ; womanly pride, womanly nature ; her 
love of the beautiful. But we men can wear a mous- 
tache and hide a whole set of rotten snags. If women 
had beards, the dentists would perish. 

There she goes again, and then boom! Let me try 
some more paregoric and camphor. Llaybe I can go 
to sleep after awhile if I will keep dosing. I wish 
I had just a small grain of dynamite behind that 
tooth, just at the end of the roots; I would explode 
it if it killed me. 

The doctor coming, you say! Merciful heavens! 
Well, let him come. In the language of Patrick 
Henry, "I repeat it, sir, let him come." ''Lay on, 
McDuff" — cold steel forceps, wrenching, twisting, 
crushing, gouging. I don 't believe I have got a friend 
in the world. I almost wish I was dead. Teeth are 
a humbug — a grand mistake — a blunder — an eye-tooth 
especially, that sends roots away up under the eye 
and makes an abscess there. They say a child is 
smart when it cuts the eye-tooth. I believe I had 
rather do without and be a fool. I have had rheu- 
matism and all sorts of pains, but I will compromise 
on anything but the toothache. I've a great respect 
for dentists, for they do the best they can to relieve 
mankind from this most miserable agony. 

''Good morning, doctor. I suppose I am the un- 
fortunate individual you have come to doctor. I am 
ready for the rack. Get out your chloroform and 
your steel-jawed grabs; I am ready for the sacrifice. 
Is that a dagger that I see before me?" 



Bill Arp. 347 

Father is in his little bed. He is asleep now. The 
long agony is over. For nearly one hour we all 
wrestled with him, for the chloroform gave out. He 
had taken so many things before the doctor came that 
chloroform failed to subdue him. It only made him 
delirious, and when we could not hold him we called 
in our blacksmith, and even then he pulled us all 
over the room, and the doctor had to take him on the 
wing. The old shell crushed and the roots had to 
be dug out in fragments. It was pitiful to hear him 
beg to go home. He has morphine now, and will be 
all right in the morning. He told me to write you 
something, and I have written. 

Bill Arp, Per M. 

Just now he waked up and wanted to know who 
whipped that fight — the parrot or the monkey. M. 



348 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XL VII. 



William Gets Left. 

It is home where the heart is, and we are all happy 
now. Here is the big old family room, and the spa- 
cious fireplace is crowded with the big back logs and 
the front logs and the top logs, and the cheerful, gen- 
ial blaze leaps out at every opening and makes us 
all sit back in the family circle. I sit near the good 
old window and look out upon the same pleasing 
prospect of fields and distant hills and am comforted. 
The dogs are in the family ring and the canaries are 
singing in their cage, and the maltese cat is purring 
in Jessie's lap. There is g, lively chattering of happy 
voices all around me, for the long spell is broken and 
the broken family almost united. I say almost, for 
the sick boy and his mother are in town at his sis- 
ter's, and these children have not yet seen them It 
was too cold to bring him five miles over a frozen 
road, and so I came out alone to give them pleasure 
in broken doses. I hoped to surprise them and peep 
in at the window, but they were on the lookout down 
the road, and have nearly looked a hole through the 
window in anxious expectation. With a scream and 
a shout they all came fiying down the hill to meet me ; 
and such a time as we all had, hugging and kissing 
and dancing around with joy. They loaded me down 



Bill Arp. 349 

and I could hardly wag along for their embraces. I 
don't believe that folks are any happier in heaven, 
and I don't know that I wish to be. 

We left Sanford last Tuesday, took the l^oy on a 
cot over the long wharf that stretches away out into 
the lake, and put him aboard the beautiful steamer, 
the ' ' City of Jacksonville. ' ' We set him down in an 
easy chair, and when the warning bell was rung we 
bade a sweet good-bye to kindred and friends, and soon 
the engines were unloosed and the big wheels turned 
and the boat moved down the lake with quivering 
throbs. The anxious mother watched her boy with 
watery eyes as he looked out greedily upon the bright 
waters and feasted his eyes once more upon scenes 
outside of a sick-chamber. The boy has no use of his 
lower limbs and has to be carried in arms from place 
to place, and it was no small trouble to get him 
through narrow doors and up and down the stairs 
and into the cars, but next morning we got him safely 
on a sleeper at Jacksonville and then breathed easier, 
for it was the last transfer until we got to Macon. 

Waycross. I see Waycross now. I expect to see 
Waycross in visions by day and in dreams by night 
for years to come. I have memories of Waycross. I 
like Waycross, for it is a bright and pleasant town, 
and has good hotels and pleasant homes, and is kept 
lively with moving trains; but I had an awful time 
at Waycross. Our train stopped there and had to 
Avait for a train on another road, they said, and I got 
out with other passengers and walked the broad plat- 



350 Bill Arp. 

form, but keeping an eye upon our sleeper and within 
easy reach of it. There were two sleepers behind ours 
that belonged to the train, and so I meandered along 
down to where a newsboy was selling Savannah 
morning papers. I gave him a quarter and was quiet- 
ly waiting for the change, when suddenly I heard a 
darkey say: "Macon is a slippin' and a slidin' off." 
I looked around instantly to see what he meant, and 
sure enough she was already a hundred yards away, 
moving like a black snake over the ground and getting 
faster every moment. The two rear sleepers had been 
cut off and I did not know it. I will never forget 
the concentrated miserj^ of that moment when I real- 
ized that my wife and helpless boy were gone and 
I was left. My heart sank down, my voice left me, 
and all my philosophy was gone. I grew Aveak and 
faintish, and sat down on a bench to collect myself 
and consider the awful situation. What will they do ? 
When will they find out that I am not somewhere on 
the train? The boy will soon want me, I know, and 
his mother will send the porter to hunt me up. The 
conductor will soon call for our fare, and I have the 
passes and my wife no money. Bye and bye she will 
learn that I am not on the train, and then, ah! then. 
I could see the tears in her eyes and the quivering 
lips, and the nervous restlessness of the boy, and there 
was no help. Arousing myself, I hurried to the tele- 
graph that was clicking near by and asked hurriedly 
for a dispatch to be sent to Jesup so that the operator 
there might tell the conductor or my wife that I was 



Bill Arp. 351 

safe and would overtake them at Macon. My anx- 
iety was intense, but I got no sympathy. The youth 
said all right, and I waited for an assurance from 
the operator at Jesup that he would attend to it. I 
called three times for an answer from him, but got 
none. Yv^hen, for the third time, I asked and almost 
begged for him to ask for a reply, he said with un- 
civil indifference : "I have got no time, sir ; I am 
busy." Well, he was very busy — smoking a cigar 
and chatting with a friend. He was not at the instru- 
ment. A gentleman near by noted the incivility and 
told me I had better go up to the Western Union if 
I wanted attention. This was news to me, for I had 
thought all the time that this was the Western Union, 
but suddenly found that it was only a railroad office. 
I had paid him for a dispatch to Mr. Brown, of Ma- 
con, that called for an answer, and two hours had 
passed and none had come. So I Avent to the West- 
ern Union and repeated to Mr. Brown and soon had 
a reply that he would meet my wife and boy and 
take care of them. Her desolation and distress was 
complete when she learned that I was missing — no- 
body called on her or the conductor at Jesup. The 
train rolled on and passed Eastman before her fears 
began, and from there to Macon she imagined I had 
fallen from the platform or in some way had met my 
death, and when at last she reached Macon, and Mr. 
Brown came in the sleeper and told her I was all 
right, she and the boy both cried with joy. The 
Brown House gave them kind welcome and every 



352 BiLi. Arp. 

attention. They had a good night's rest and were 
only aroused by a vigorous knock at the door at four 
o'clock the next morning. That was me. The poet 
says : 

'' One glorious hour of crowded life 
Is worth an age without a name." 

And just so we can sometimes live longer and live 
more in a minute than at any other time in a month. 
I dident blame her for slipping off and leaving me, 
and she dident blame me for stopping at Waycross, 
but now that the long agony is over we can smile at 
our mutual woes and fears. My kind and considerate 
wife has not told it on me but fourteen times up to 
this date, and I don't expect to hear of it any longer 
than I live. She gently hinted yesterday that she 
didn't suppose that I would ever mention Waycross 
in my Sunday letter, for it was most too personal and 
was not of a character to interest the public. So you 
perceive I have taken the hint and told it all just as 
it was. As General Lee said at the battle of Gettys- 
burg : "It was all my fault. It was all my fault. ' ' 

I shall step off no more trains to buy a paper, and 
I now warn all travelers to stand by the car the wife 
is in and not go fooling down the line. Dick Hargis 
hollers ' ' All aboard ! ' ' like a fog horn when his train 
is ready to move, and you can hear him a quarter of 
a mile, but Dick can't run all the trains, and so ever 
and anon some poor fellow like me is bound to be 
left. 



Bill Arp. 353 

Farewell, Waycrons. I found some pleasant friends 
there before I left, and tliey comforted me, espec- 
ially the host of the Grand Central, who was an old 
Gwinnett boy, and we revived many recollections of 
our youthful days. Bui still when I think of. Way- 
cross it is with feelings somewhat like those we have 
when we visit an old-time battlefield where we fought, 
bled and died for liberty. 



354 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XL VIII. 



Pleasures of Hope and Memory. 

We see that Dr. Curry, ihat great and good man, 
is Avriting the reminiscences of his youth. How lov- 
ingly he proceeds with his work! How gushingly 
he tells of his old school days, and the halos and rain- 
bows that gilded his childhood! How reverently he 
writes of the grand old men of the olden time, for 
there were giants in those days! How feelingly he 
records his companionship with the family negroes 
— the servants of the household who were contented 
and happy and trusting, and who loved and honored 
every member of their master's family, and were 
loved by them! Oh, the tender and teary recollec- 
tions of 'possum hunts and coon hunts and rabbit 
hunts and corn shuckings, and eating watermelons in 
the cotton patch and sometimes finding them while 
pulling fodder in the hot and sultry cornfield ! What 
frolics in going to mill and going in washing and 
jumping from the springboard into ten-foot water! 
What glorious sport in playing town-ball and bull- 
pen and cat and roily-hole and knucks and sweep- 
stakes. Baseball has grown out of town-ball; it is 
no improvement. The pitcher used to belong to the 
ins and threw the best ball he could, for he wanted 
it hit and knocked as far away as possible, but now 



Bill Arp. 355 

he belongs to the outs and wants it missed. We used 
to throw at a boy to stop him running to another base, 
and we hit him if we could; but these modern balls 
are hard and heavy and dangerous, and many a boy 
goes home with a brui^'ed face or a broken finger. 
We used to take an old rubber shoe and cut it into 
strings and wind it tight into a ball until it was half 
grown, and then finish it with yarn that was unraveled 
from an old woolen sock. Our good mothers fur- 
nished everything, and then made a buckskin cover 
and stitched it over so nice. Oh, my, how those balls 
would bounce, and yet they didn 't hurt very bad when 
hit by them. They were sweet to throw and sweet 
to catch. I heard lying Tom Turner say he had one 
that bounced so high it never came down till next 
day, and then his little dog grabbed it, and it took 
the dog up, and he had never seen the dog nor the 
ball since. I used to believe that, but I don't now. 
When we played town-ball some of the outs would 
circle away off, two hundred yards, and it was glor- 
ious to see them catch a ball that had nearly reached 
the sky as it gracefully curved from the stroke of the 
bat. We had an hour and a half for recess, and most 
of it was spent in town-ball or bull-pen. Bull-pen 
was no bad game, especially when the ins got down 
to two and the juggling began. I used to be so 
proud because I could stand in the middle of the 
pen and defy the jugglers to hit me, for I was slender 
and active and could bend in or bend out or squat 
down or jump up and dodge every ball that came, 



356 Bill Arp. 

but I couldn't do it now, not much I couldn't, for, 
alas! I can neither squat nor jump, and a boy could 
hit my corporosity as easy as a barn door. Oh, these 
memories, how sweet they haunt us. 

'' I remember, I remember 
The house where I was born; 
The little window where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn. ' ' 

Of course I do — everybody does. The other night 
there were ten of our school board in session, and the 
special business w^as whether to give a longer recess 
at noon or not, and it was curious to hear the various 
opinions on the subject. Our president listened pa- 
tiently to all, and then made a speech for himself, 
and said that the children should have more time to 
go home and get a good, warm dinner. "Cold din- 
ners," he said, ''are unhealthy. The laws of hygiene 
teach us that the processes of digestion are much more 
easily carried on when the food is warm and fresh 
from the oven. More than half of the pupils take 
their dinners to school shut up in tin buckets or 
wrapped up in baskets, and they get cold and clammy, 
and are crammed into the stomach in a hurry, and 
the children go to playing before digestion begins, and 
of course the stomach rebels and won't do its work; 
and after school is out they go home and cram in a 
lot of cake and jelly and pickle on top of the cold, 
undigested dinner, and the first thing you know the 
boy or the girl is sick and has to stay at home a day 



Bill Arp. 357 

or two to recuperate. I am decidedly in favor of a 
longer recess and warm dinners. ' ' 

That was a good speech and a sensible argument, 
but it hurt my feelings so bad that I rose forward 
and in trembling accents told how I went to school 
three miles from home for three long and happy 
years, and carried my dinner in a bucket, and how 
I enjoyed those cold dinners that my good mother so 
carefully prepared, and how I had often tried to 
write a poem to that little tin bucket — such a poem 
as Wordsworth wrote about "The old oaken bucket 
that hung in the well." My poem began just like 
his, but always ended with 
That dear little bucket, 
That bright, shining bucket. 
That little tin bucket I carried to school. 

Oh, those delightful cold dinners that were so nicely 
arranged! The tender and luscious fried chicken, 
with the liver and gizzard and all; the hard-boiled 
eggs, with the little paper of pepper and salt close 
by; the home-made sausages, linked sausages, that, in 
the language of Milton, were "linked sweetness — 
long drav\^n out;" the little bottle of syrup, and the 
round, hand-made biscuit that were beaten from the 
dough and had no soda in them — and last of all, the 
good, old-fashioned ginger cakes and the turn-over 
pies. Ah, those rights and lefts, those, delicious juicy 
pies that were made of peaches that my mother dried. 

Just then there was a racket behind me, and Will 
Howard was seen falling over in his chair, with his 



358 Bill Arp. 

hands clasped below the belt and his eyes rolled up 
to heaven. He gasped piteously as he whispered: 
''Hush, Major, hush, for heaven's sake," Martin 
Collins shouted, "Glory!" and Judge Milner heaved 
a troubled sigh and murmured, "Oh, would I w^ere 
a boy again." 

For fear of a scene I suspended my broken remarks 
and our worthy president gracefully subsided. Major 
Foute wiped his eyes with his empty sleeve and 
moved for an adjournment, and so the recess hour 
remains unchanged. 

I believe it is best for children to walk a mile or 
two to school, especially i:^ there are other children 
to walk with them a part of the way. Every step 
of that three-mile way is dear to me now, and I love 
to recall the boyish frolics as morning and evening we 
meandered along, playing tag or mad dog, or running 
foot races, or jumping half-hammond, or stopping at 
the half-way branch to wade in the water or dam it 
up, or catch the tadpoles, or drive the litle minnows 
into their holes. It was there that I saw for the first 
time a tadpole turning into a frog, and it was there 
we killed a water moccasin with a frog in his throat 
and saw his frogship kick out bactwards and hop 
away. I can go now to the very gully that had a 
vein of red chalk, and another one that had white. 
I know every persimmon tree and chestnut and hick- 
ory, and where the red haws were, and the black haws 
and the fruitful walnut that we climbed in its sea- 
son and rattled the nuts to the ground and stained 



Bill Arp. 359 

our hands and clothes in hulling them. All such 
things are around me now, but there is no charm, no 
fond memory about them, for they were not mine. 
All these are for another generation — another set of 
boys and girls. Bye and bye they will be looking 
back at theirs as I am looking back at mine. In a 
few more years they will reverse the telescope. Until 
I was past thirty I looked through the little end and 
saw life expanded and magnified before me, while the 
distant things were brought almost within reach, and 
I was nearing the goal with my hope and my ambition. 
But alas ! I haven 't reached it, and by degrees hope 
weakened and ambition became chilled, and with a 
sad humility I began to look backwards — I reversed 
the telescope and saw my life away back in the dis- 
tant past. The picture v»^as far — very far away, but 
it was beautiful, and now as the years grow short I 
find myself looking through the large end almost alto- 
gether. The memories of the past grow sweeter as 
the years roll on. The capital stock of the young is 
hope — but the treasure of age is memory. 



360 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER XLIX. 



Arp's Reminiscences of Fifty Years. 

A sweet little girl from Marietta writes me a nice 
letter and begs me to write something for the chil- 
dren — just for the children. 

I never look upon a flock of happy, well-raised 
children without wondering if they know how well 
off they are — hov/ much better off than their grand- 
parents were some fifty or sixty years ago. I would 
like to see old Father Time set his clock back a half 
a century just for a week and put everything like it 
was then, and I would walk around and have lots of 
fun out of those little folks. I don't believe they 
could stand it for a whole week, but it would do them 
good to try. In the first place, they would have to 
get out of their comfortable houses with plastered 
walls and large glass windows and coal grates, and 
get into smaller houses with about two rooms in front 
and a back shed room that had no fireplace and no 
ceiling and a window with a wooden shutter, and in 
that shed room they would have to sleep, and the 
wind would come slipping in all night and kiss their 
faces ever so nice. They would have to take off all 
their pretty clothes, and wear country jeans and lin- 
sey, and they wo^ld have to go to the shoemaker's 
and have some coarse, rough shoes made of leather. 



Bill Arp. 361 

and no high heels nor box toes nor buttons. But 
they would be good and strong, and two pairs would 
last any boy or girl a whole year — one pair would do 
them if they greased them now and then and went 
barefooted during summer as we used to do. All the 
store stockings would have to be dispensed with, and 
the elastic, too, and they would put on some good 
warm ones that were knit by hand, and be tied up 
with a rag. No nice hats from the milliner's with 
pretty flowers and ribbons gay flying, but the girls 
would have to put on home-made bonnets, nicely 
quilted, and the boys would have to wear home-made 
wool hats or sealskin caps that would last two or three 
years and stretch bigger as the heads grew bigger. 
There would not be found a store in the whole State 
where ready-made clothing could be found — not a coat 
nor a pair of pants, nor a shirt, nor a skirt, nor a 
doll, nor hardly a toy of any kind. ' I suppose that 
some few things for children might be found in Au- 
gusta, or Savannah, or Macon ; but the country stores 
wouldent have anything, not even candy nor oranges 
or a box of raisins. A boy could find a dog knife or 
a barlow, and be allowed about one a year, but the 
little girls couldent even find a thimble small enough 
nor a pair of scissors. Children were not of much 
consequence then, especially girls. 

I would like to see the clock set back for one week 
and see the boys cutting wood and making fires, cut- 
ting wood half the day Saturday for Sunday, and 
Sunday morning sitting down to learn some more of 



362 Bill Arp. 

the shorter catechism about justification, and sancti- 

fication, and adoption, and some more verses in the 

Bible, and that poetry in the primer about — 

'^ In Adam's fall 
We sinned all. 
The cat doth play 
And after slay. 
Xerxes must die 
And so must I. 
Zacheus, he 
Did climb a tree 
His Lord to see. ' ' 

I would like to see one of these boys wake up some 
cold morning and when he tried to make a fire and 
stirred around among the ashes to find a coal, he 
couldent find one, and what then? Not a match in 
the wide, wide world, for there was none invented. 
Wouldent he be in a fix ! Well, he would have to run 
over to the nabors, if he was a town boy, and bor- 
row a chunk. If he was a country boy he would 
have to walk a mile or so, maybe, and nearlj^ freeze to 
death before he got back, and if it was raining his 
chunk was apt to go out on the way. I would like 
to see these boys and girls studying their lessons by 
the light of one tallow candle. No gas, no kerosene, 
no oil of any sort — only one flickering light of a 
candle, or maybe only a lightwood blaze in the fire- 
place. I reckon they would study hard and study 
fast;, and go to bed soon and get up early in the morn- 
ing and try it again. I would like to see them sit 
down to write a letter and find nothing but an old 



Bill Arp. 363 

goose quill for a pen — not a steel pen in the world. 
I would watch the poor fellow as he tried to make a 
pen out of a quill, and after he had cut it to a point 
see him try to split it in the middle with his knife, 
and split too far or not far enough, or on one side 
and then throw it away in despair. 

It would all be fun to us old folks, but it wouldent 
be fun for the boys or the girls to be set back. But 
there are old people living now who do the same old 
things and live in the same old way. Colonel Camp- 
bell Wallace still uses the quill pens and makes them 
himself, and I wish you could see how nicely and how 
quickly he can do it. Our school teachers had to 
make the pens for all their scholars, and it took about 
half their time, for they had to mend them oftener 
than make them. When the first split wore out he 
had to split it again and trim it down to a new point. 
His knife was always open and ready. Poor man! 
He died before the steel pens were invented and 
never got the good of them. 

But we were used to these ways and never thought 
hard of them. Judge Lester used to run over to our 
house of a cold morning and say to my mother : 
''Please, mam, lend me a chunk of fire," and I used 
to go over to his house and do the same thing. But 
we didn't let it go out often. We knew how to cover 
up fire in the ashes so as to keep it till morning. I 
remember going over to Forsyth county once when 
an old Indian lived there by the name of Sawnee. 
He didn't go off with the rest of the Indians, but 



364 Bill Arp. 

lived on a mountain called Sawnee's mountain, and 
lie had some grandsons about our age. George Les- 
ter and Cicero Strong were with me, and we gave 
an Indian boy some money to show us how they got 
fire when their fire went out. He took two dry hick- 
ory sticks about a foot long and as large as my 
thumb and a little bunch of dry grass and started 
off on a run and rubbed the sticks together so rapidly 
that you could hardly see them and the friction made 
fire and caught the grass and he came back in half 
a minute with a blaze in his hand. I used to go 
down to the store at night with my father, and he 
had a tinder box nailed up b}^ the door and would 
strike the steel with the flint and make a spark and 
let it fall on a piece of punk and light it, and then 
he would light his candle from the punk. But 
matches came along after awhile and stopped all that. 
I remember the first matches that came to our town. 
They were called Lucifer matches, for some folks 
thought that the ' ' old boy ' ' had something to do with 
them, and wouldent use them. They smelled strong 
of brimstone and were sold at twenty-five cents a box. 
Now ten times as many sell for a nickle. But about 
lights. Dipping the candles was one of the notable 
events of the year. It was almost as big a thing as 
hog killing. The boys prepared the canes or reeds, 
about sixty in number, as large as the little finger 
and nearly a j^ard long. They were smoothed at the 
joints and put away in a bundle to dry. When the 
time cnmo, the first cold weather in the fall, our 



Bill Arp. 365 

mother would get out the candle wick and wind it 
around a pair of cotton cards, end ways, and after 
a good deal was wound would cut one end with the 
scissors, and that made the v/icks when doubled just 
long enough for a candle. Three or four canes were 
then interlaced through the back of an old-fashioned 
chair to keep them steady while she looped the wicks 
around them and twisted their ends together. Seven 
wicks were put on each cane, and when the cane was 
taken out and held horizontal the wicks hung down 
and were about two inches apart. When all the 
canes were full they were laid upon a table ready for 
dipping. The tallow was melted in a big wash pot. 
Some beeswax was added and a little alum. Old 
plank were placed on the floor where the dipping 
and dripping was to be. Two long poles or quilting 
frames were placed parallel on the backs of chairs 
and were wide enough apart to let the candles be- 
tween and hold up the canes. The big pot had to be 
kept nearly full all the time. A cane of wicks was 
let down slowly in the pot until the cane rested on its 
edges. Then it was lifted up and allow^ed to drip 
awhile and then placed as number one between the 
long poles where, if it dripped any more, it was on 
the old plank. The first course was long and tedious, 
for it took the loose cotton wick some time to absorb 
the tallow. After that the process was rapid. Tal- 
low would harden on tallow quickly, and at every 
dipping the little candles got larger until after awhile 
they were large enough at the bottom ends to fill a 



366 Bill Arp. 

candlestick, and that ended the job. They were left 
on the poles over night and then slipped off the rods 
and placed in the candlebox or an old trunk. 

Seven times sixty made four hundred and twenty 
candles, and that was the year's supply. Only one 
candle was used for the table in the family room. 
The reading and sewing was all done by that. The 
boys were allowed a piece of one to go to bed by. 
Nobody sat up until midnight then. The night was 
believed to be created for sleep and rest, and the day 
for work. There were no theaters nor skating rinks 
— no reading novels half the night and lying in bed 
until breakfast the next morning. The rule was to 
go to bed at nine o'clock and get up v/ith the chick- 
ens. But now we couldn't read by candle light. It 
takes at least two lamps, and one lamp is equal to 
ten candles. But we got along pretty well. All 
the substantial things Vv^ere as good as they are 
now. Good water, good air, good sunshine and shower, 
good health, good warm clothes, good bread and meat 
and milk and butter, good peaches and apples, good 
horses to ride, good fishing and swimming and hunt- 
ing. We dident have railroads and telegraphs and 
telephones and sewing machines and so forth, but we 
didn't need them. We need them now, for the world 
is so full of people that the old ways wouldent feed 
and clothe them. The right thing always comes along 
at the right time. If the clock was set back I wonder 
how this generation would manage about the cooking 
business. Fifty years ago there were no cooking 



Bill Arp. 367 

stoves. The ovens and skillets and spiders were big, 
heavy things that had to be lifted on and off the fire 
with a pair of pot hooks. They had hea'vy lids, and 
the cooking was done by putting coals nnderneath and 
coals on top. It took bark and chips to make coals 
quickly, and our old cook used to say, "Nov/ git me 
some bark, little master, and I gib you a bikket when 
he done." There was no soda, no tartaric acid or 
baking powder. The biscuit were made by main 
strength. The dough was kneaded by strong arms, 
and sometimes it was beaten with the rolling pin until 
it blistered. When the dough blistered it was good 
and made good biscuit. I can't say that we have any 
better cooking now than we had then; but the stove 
makes it a great deal easier to cook. 

The boys had no baseball, but they had bullpen 
and cat and townball and roley hole and tag and 
sweepstakes and pull over the mark and foot races and 
so forth, and they thought there w^as nothing better. 
They had the best rubber balls in the world, and made 
them themselves. Some of them could bounce thirty 
feet high. They were made by cutting an old rubber 
shoe into strings and winding the strings into a ball 
and covering it with buckskin. But after awhile the 
rubber shoes were not made out of all rubber; they 
were mixed with something that took some of the 
bounce out and our balls degenerated. There was an 
old man living near us who was called ''Lying Tom 
Turner," and he told us boys one day that when he 
was a boy he had a rubber ball that he was afraid to 



368 Bill Arp. 

bounce hard for fear it would go up out of sight and 
he would lose it. We asked him what became of his 
ball, and he said he bounced it one day most too hard 
and it went up in the clouds and was gone half an 
hour, and when it came down his little dog grabbed 
it in his mouth, and it rebounced and carried the 
dog up with it out of sight, and he had never seen 
the ball nor the little dog since. 

Well, I don't know which times are the best — the 
old times or the new. It is very nice to have a nice 
house and nice furniture and nice clothes and lots of 
nice story books and to ride on the cars, but in the 
old times people didn't hanker after such things, and 
they were easy to please, and were in no hurry to f;et 
through life, and there were no suicides, and very few 
crazy folks, and no pistols to carry in the hip 
pockets. Nowadays there is a skeleton in most 
every house. I don't mean a real skeleton, but some 
great big trouble that throws a dark shadow over the 
family. There were not any exciting books to read 
— no sensation novels that poison the mind just like 
bad food poisons the body. There were but half a 
dozen newspapers in the whole State, and they didn't 
have whole columns full of murders and suicides and 
robberies and awful fires that burned up poor lun- 
atics and all other horrid things to make a tender 
heart feel bad. There was nobody very rich and no- 
body very poor, and we had as great men then as 
we have now. 



Bill Arp. 369 

If the clock was set back and the little girl who 
wrote to me wanted to go to Augusta with her 
grandpa to visit her kinfolks, she would have to get 
in the mail coach and jog along all day and all night 
at four miles an hour and pay ten cents a mile, and 
it would take two days and nights, and she would be 
tired almost to death, and so would her grandpa. 
Well, they just couldn't go. But now they can go 
as cheap as to stay at home, and do it in less time, 
as the Irishman said. 

But the clock will not be set back, and so we must 
all be content with things as they are and make them 
better if we can. 

(13) 



370 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER L. 



"A Mother is a Motpier Still, The Holiest Thing 

Alive/' 

Goldsmith, in a short and pretty preface to the 
''Vicar of Wakefield," says: "There are a hundred 
faults in this thing and a hundred things might be 
said to prove them beauties. A book may be amus- 
ing with many errors, or it may be dull without a 
single absurdity. The hero in this story unites in 
himself the three greatest characters on earth — the 
priest, the husbandman and the father of a family." 

Strange that the author could write such a charm- 
ing story about the very three characters he knew 
least about, for he had no fitness for nor experience 
in either. It was not recorded that he was ever in 
love or sought the company of virtuous young ladies, 
yet his ballad of the Hermit in the "Vicar of Wake- 
field" is admitted to be the tenderest and most per- 
fect love poem ever written. My father made me 
commit it to memory when I was young, and there 
are at least a dozen verses in it that I can cry over 
now and it does me good. It is a comfort to weep 
over these sad, sweet things. Langhorn wrote a verse 
about a poor woman with a babe at her breast hunt- 
ing over the battlefield of IMinden for the body of 
her husband, and when she found him she knelt by 



Bill Arp. 371 

his side and wept, and the big tears fell upon the face 
of her child and mingled with the milk he drew; "A 
child of misery baptized in tears." A painting was 
made of it, and Walter Scott says that the only time 
he ever saw Burns he v^as looking at that painting 
and crying like a child. To read the lines and imag- 
ine the painting is enough for me. But if I had been 
Goldsmith I would have set dov/n the mother of a 
family as greater than the father. 

Evan Howell said he would not vote for a curfew, 
for his observation was that if a father would stay 
at home at night the boys would, and that song of 
''Where is my wandering boy tonight?" would not 
have been written. But the fathers can't stay at home 
at night. They are wanted at the store, the office, 
the counting room, for on them depends the support 
of the family. But many a tired mother can sing 
"Where is my wandering husband tonight?" Alas, 
too many can be found at the club, at the pool-room 
or the hotel, while the mother is straining her mind 
to untangle that hard sum., "If A and B can build 
a house in thirty days, and B can build it in forty- 
five days, how long will it take A to build it?" 

Take it all in all, it is the mothers who are the 
hope of the world — the saviours of the children. 
They certainly save the girls, for nobody has yet sung, 
"Where is my wandering girl tonight?" If the 
fathers would do their half and save the boys it would 
be all right. Oh, but for the mothers and wives and 
sisters: what would become of us without them? 



372 Bill Arp. 



1 



Since I have been sick sometimes away in the silent 
watches of the night, when, as Job says, "Deep sleep 
falleth upon a man," it does not fall upon a woman, 
for I feel her gentle touch arranging the cover and 
feeling whether I am breathing or not. Since I have 
been sick I have never caught her fast asleep, and 
the other night she got hurt with me because I slipped 
out in the hall and called the girls down to make a 
fire and heat some water, for I was sick and suffering 
and there was no hot water in the boiler. It is just 
as Scott wrote : 

'' When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou. 



J ) 



And as Coleridge wrote : 

" A mother is a mother still; 
The holiest thing alive. ' ' 

I may have written it before, but I will write it 
again, that one night I agreed to stay with two dear 
little girls while their father and mother went out to 
tea at a neighbor's. This pleased me, for I am al- 
ways happy in their company, and they in mine. 
When bed-time came I undressed them and they knelt 
by my knees and said their prayers ; one of them was 
soon asleep, but the other lingered and said, ''Gran 'pa, 
when papa comes home please tell him I love him." 
"Yes, I will," said I; "what must I tell your mam- 
ma?" She closed her eyes and said, "Nothing — she 
knows I love her." That expresses it. That child's 
father loves those little girls dearly, but he keeps a 



Bill Arp. 373 

drug store and is the prescription partner. He goes 
to the store before his children get up ; he has but an 
hour with them at noon, and has to return to the 
store soon after supper. No wonder these little girls 
want him to know that they love him. Boys are very 
different, and when they get up in their teens mothers 
lose their influence. Some say it is bad associates. 
Of course that has something to do with it, but Cain 
didn't have any that we know of and yet he killed 
his brother. Environment is a big word, but it covers 
everything that a boy inherits or that he gets from 
association. One day a friend of mine, a Hebrew, 
said to me, "Major, I pelieve you does love your 
shildurn better dan anybody in de town." "Oh, no, 
I reckon not, ' ' said I ; " don 't you love your chil- 
dren ? " " Vy, yes, of course ; but I pelieve you would 
die for your shildurn." "Wouldn't you die for 
yours?" said I. He pondered a while. "Yes, I pe- 
lieve I vould ; dat is, for all — except Frank. ' ' Frank 
was his bad boy and gave him trouble; but Frank 
turned out to be a good boy and is one of the best 
citizens of Atlanta. 

One of my best old-time friends was a Norwegian, 
and was killed during the war. He had some good, 
amiable daughters, and had two sons who were bad, 
very bad, and as I was mayor of the town they gave 
me trouble. Their father was a member of the council, 
an elder in my church, and I have favored his boys 
as much as possible ; but one night just before Christ- 
mas they broke into a hardware store and stole a keg 



374 Bill Arp. 

of powder and hid it in their stable loft. They had 
planned to blow up the calaboose. The city marshal 
(old Sam Stewart) found it and arrested the boys 
and brought them before me for trial. I put it off 
until the next morning. That night I went to see 
the father and mother. She cried, of course, and he 
choked up as he talked. "Mine goot friend — I has 
been prayin' over dis ting about mine boys, and it 
seems to me de goot Lord say mine poys is goin' to 
queet. Dey take it all from me. I has been in de 
calaboose in Stockholm a hundred times, but von day 
I queet. I shust queet right off all a sudden, and I 
pelieve if you will try my boys one more time dey 
will queet." And sure enough, they did quit, and 
grew up to a good manhood. One of them is the 
cashier of the largest bank in Memphis and the other 
the head of a hardware store in Louisville, Ky. 
Sometimes I think that it is the halo of a mother's 
prayers that reclaims many a way^^ard bo}^ If the 
young man would only stop and think — think of the 
watches of the night, when he was a teething infant, 
tugging at an empty breast for milk, while the poor 
tired mother changed him from side to side and 
longed for the morning. I have wondered how they 
survived it and why they would go through the ordeal 
again. A man wouldn't, and not all of them will 
help and comfort the mother when she feels for the 
first time her first-born's breath. But we must not 
give up the boys. Maybe they will, like the prodigal 
son, come to themselves and ''queet." 



Bill Arp. 375 



CHAPTER LI. 



Good People, But They Don^t Understand. 

''Keokuk, Iowa, September 15, 1902. — ^IMajor 
Charles H. Smith, Cartersville, Ga. — Dear Sir: For 
several years past I have been reading yonr letters. I 
like very much your writings about the home life, the 
everyday events and the many little incidents of your 
experience, looking backward over a long and busy 
career. 

''Although a stranger, of opposite politics, and 
with many different views of life, still your words 
have interested me and have so many times touched 
my heart that I want to write to you my appreciation. 
I wish you could visit Iowa — go over it from the 
Mississippi to the Missouri river and meet the people 
of a Republican State. You would, no doubt, soften 
your writings about the 'Northerners.' You would 
find as warm-hearted and generous a people as you 
have in Georgia. 

"You would find a people that average in intelli- 
gence with any people on earth. If you could inter- 
view the fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters or wives 
of those who had fallen in the war of the rebellion, 
you would not find bitter resentment; you would not 
find that these men, who had given their lives, had 
done so with any hatred toward their Southern breth- 



376 Bill Arp. 

ren, but you would find that the great reason for 
their sacrifice was in the cause of the union of all 
parts of this great country and liberty for all hu- 
manity. This is Northern sentiment, and God, who 
rules wisely, ordered that the result should be as it is. 

''It is certainly a great curse to have so many 
illiterate, low-lived negroes in your State; but how 
true is the Bible, that you revere, when it says, 'The 
sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children 
unto the third and fourth generations.' To my 
mind, the 'forefathers' of Georgia sinned in purchas- 
ing and owning slaves, and now their children's 
children suffer the consequences. 

"I trust you will receive these words as they are 
meant, with the greatest kindness and good will, and 
I wish you many more years of happiness with your 
good wife, children and grandchildren, and further 
hope that 'Bill Arp's Letter' will continue to visit us 
for very many years to come." 

That is a good letter. A good man wrote it. I 
could neighbor with him and his folks and never say 
a word to give them offense. But I would teach 
them something they do not know — teach them gently, 
line upon line, precept upon precept — here a little 
and there a little. Now, here is a gentleman of more 
than ordinary intelligence and education who does 
not know that the sin of slavery began in New Eng- 
land among his forefathers — not ours — and from 
there was gradually crowded southward until it got 
to Georgia, and that Georgia was the first State to 



Bill Arp. 377 

prohibit their importation. See Appleton's Cyclo- 
pedia (Slavery and the Slave Trade). He does not 
know that long after New England and New York had 
abolished slavery their merchantmen continued to 
trade with Africa and sold their cargoes secretly 
along the coast, and never did but one reach Georgia, 
and that one, "The Wanderer," was seized and con- 
fiscated and its officers arrested. "The Wanderer" 
was built at Easport, in Maine, was equipped as a 
slaver in New York and officered there and a crew 
employed. He does not know that Judge Story, chief 
justice of the United States Supreme Court, when 
presiding in Boston in 1834, charged the grand jury 
that although Massachusetts had freed their slaves, 
yet the slave trade with Africa was still going on 
and Boston merchants and Boston Christians were 
steeped to their eyebrows in its infamy. He does 
not know that when our national existence began the 
feeling against slaver}^ was stronger in the Southern 
States than in the Northern. Georgia was the first 
to prohibit it, but later on the prohibition was re- 
pealed. New England carried on the traffic until 
1845 — and is doing it yet if they can find a market 
and can get the rum to pay for them. The last rec- 
ord of a slaver caught in the act was in 1861, off the 
coast of Madagascar, and it was an Eastport vessel. 
The slave trade with Africa was for more than a 
century a favorite and popular venture with our 
English ancestors. King James II. and King Charles 
II. and Queen Elizabeth all had stock in it, and 



378 Bill Arp. 

though Wilberforce and others had laws passed to 
suppress it they could not do it. New England and 
old England secretly carried it on (see Appleton) 
long after slavery was abolished in the colonies. They 
could afford to lose half their vessels and still make 
money. 

No, no, my friend. If slavery was a sin at all, 
which I deny, it was not our sin, nor that of our 
fathers, nor were we cursed with so many illiterate, 
low-lived negroes as you suppose. Our slaves were 
not educated in books as they were in manners and 
morals and industry, and, mark you, there was not 
a heinous crime committed by them from the Poto- 
mac to the Rio Grande. We did not have a chain- 
gang nor a convict in aJl of the land, and now there 
are 4,400 in the State of Georgia. Who is responsi- 
ble for that? General Henry R. Jackson said in the 
great address he delivered in Atlanta in 1881 : 
''During the four years of war, when our men were 
far away from home, and their wives and daughters 
had no protectors but their slaves, there was not an 
outrage committed in all the Southland. Where does 
history present a like development of loyalty? Does 
it not speak volumes for the humanity of the master 
and the devotion of the slave? If I had power to 
indulge my emotional nature I would erect some- 
where in the center of this Southland a shaft, which 
should rise above all monuments and strike the stars 
with its sublime, head, and on it I would inscribe, ' To 



Bill Arp. 379 

the loyalty of the slaves of the Confederate States 
during the years '62, '63, and '64.' " 

But this will do for the first lesson to my friend. 
It may take some time — weeks or months — for us to 
harmonize, and we will not until we get the facts 
straight, but I know that he is a gentleman and I 
think more of Jowa and her people since I received 
his letter. 

But my friend is lamentably ignorant about the 
condition of our negroes before the war and their 
condition now\ I must resent any slanders upon our 
slaves. They were not low-lived. They were affection- 
ate and loyal. I believe that our family servants 
would have died for my wife, or for me or our chil- 
dren. They were born hers and expect to die hers. 
Tip was my trusted servant during the war and 
was twice captured and twice escaped, the last time 
swimming the Coosa river in the night. But I have 
done for this time, for I am not well and the doctor 
says I must not strain my mind. 



380 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER LII. 



ArmcAN Slavery — Its Origin. 

Wanted. — In 1881 General Henry R. Jackson, of 
Savannah, delivered in Atlanta the most notable, in- 
structive and eloquent address that has ever been 
heard in Georgia since the civil war. The subject 
was ' ' The Wanderer, ' ' a slave ship that landed on the 
Georgia coast in 1858. But the whole address was an 
historical recital of many political events that led to 
the civil war and of which the generation that has 
grown up since were profoundly ignorant and still 
are. It was delivered by request of the Young Men's 
Library Association, when Henry Grady was its 
chairman, and I supposed was published in pamphlet 
form and could be had on application. But I have 
sought in vain to find a copy. I have a newspaper 
copy but it has been worn to the quick and is almost 
illegible. I wrote to Judge Pope Barrow, who is 
General Jackson's executor, and he can find none 
among the General's papers. Can any veteran fur- 
nish me a copy? 

I would also be pleased to obtain a copy of Daniel 
Webster's speech at Capon Springs, which was sup- 
pressed by his publishers and to which General Jack- 
son makes allusion. General Jackson was a great 
man. He won his military laurels in the war with 



Bill Arp. 381 

Mexico. He was assistant attorney-general under 
Buchanan, when Jeremiah Black was the chief. He 
was the vigilant, determined, conscientious prosecutor 
of those who owned and equipped and officered the 
only slave ship that ever landed on the Georgia coast. 
He was a man of splendid culture and a poet of 
ability and reputation. Strange it is that this mag- 
nificent address has not been compiled in the appendix 
of some Southern history as a land mark for the pres- 
ent generation. It is sad and mortifying that our 
young and middle-aged men and our graduates from 
Southern colleges know so little of our ante-bellum 
history. The Northern people are equally ignorant 
of the origin of slavery and the real causes that pre- 
cipitated the civil war. Most of them have a vague 
idea that slavery was born and just grew up in the 
South — came up out of the ground like the seventeen- 
year-old locusts — and was our sin and our curse. 

Not one in ten thousand will believe that the South 
never imported a slave from Africa, but got all we 
had by purchase from our Northern brethren. I 
would wager a thousand dollars against ten that not 
a man under fifty nor a schoolboy who lives north 
of the line knows or believes that General Grant, 
their great military hero and idol, was a slaveholder 
and lived off of their hire and their services while 
he was fighting us about ours. Lincoln's proclama- 
tion of freedom came in 1863, but General Grant paid 
no attention to it. He continued to use them as slaves 
until January, 1865. (See his biography by General 



382 Bill Arp. 

James Grant Wilson in Appleton's Encyclopedia.) 
General Grant owned these slaves in St. Louis, Mo., 
where he lived. He was a bad manager, and just 
before the war began he moved to Galena and went 
to work for his brother in the tanyard. While there 
he caught the war fever and got a good position under 
Lincoln, but had he remained in St. Louis would have 
greatly preferred one on our side. So said Mrs. Grant 
a few years ago to a newspaper editor in St. Augus- 
tine. 

How many of this generation. North or South, know 
or will believe that as late as November, 1861, Na- 
thaniel Gordon, master of a New England slave ship 
called the Erie, was convicted in New York City of 
carrying on the slave trade? (See Appleton.) Just 
think of it and wonder ! In 1861 our Northern breth- 
ren made war upon us because we enslaved the ne- 
groes we had bought from them; but at the same 
time they kept on bringing more from Africa and 
begging us to buy them. How many know that Eng- 
land, our mother country, never emancipated her 
slaves until 1843, when twelve millions were set free 
in the East Indies and one hundred millions of dol- 
lars paid to their owners by act of Parliament? It 
is only within the last half century that the importa- 
tion of slaves from Africa has generally ceased. Up 
to that time every civilized country bought them and 
enslaved them. English statesmen and clergymen 
said it was better to bring them away than to have 
them continue in their barbaris^n and cannibalism. 



Bill Akp. 383 

And it was better. I believe it was God's providence 
that they should be brought away and placed in slav- 
ery, but the way it was done was inhuman and 
brutal. 

The horrors of the middle passage, as the ocean voy- 
age was called, is the most awful narrative I ever 
read and reminds me of Dante's "Inferno." About 
half the cargo survived, and the dead and dying were 
tumbled into the sea. The owners said : ' ' We can 
afford to lose half and still have a thousand per cent, 
profit. ' ' Rev. John Newton, one of the sweetest poets 
who ever wrote a hymn, the author of "Amazing 
grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like 
me, "• " Savior, visit thy plantation, " " Safely through 
another week, ' ' and many others, was for many years 
a deck hand on a slave ship and saw all its horrors. 
He became converted, but soon after became captain 
of a slaver and for four years pursued it diligently 
and mitigated its cruelty. Then he quit and went to 
preaching, and says in his autobiography that it never 
occurred to him that there was anything wrong or 
immoral in the slave trade where it was humanely 
conducted. The Savior said: "Offenses must needs 
come, but woe unto them by whom they come." 

In Apple ton's long and exhaustive article on 
slavery it is said that slavery in some form has 
existed ever since human history began. And it ap- 
pears to have been under the sanction of Providence 
as far back as the days of Noah and Abraham. The 
latter had a very great household and many servants 



384 Bill Arp. 

whom he had bought with his money. The word 
** slave" appears but twice in the Bible. It is syn- 
onymous with servant and bondsman. There has 
been no time since the Christian ear that the domi- 
nant nations have not owned slaves — sometimes the 
bondage was hard, but as a general rule the master 
found it to his interest to be kind to his slaves. As 
Bob Toombs said in his Boston speech : " It is not to 
our interest to starve our slaves any more than it is 
to starve our horses and horned cattle." Shortly 
after the little cargo that the Wanderer brought 
were secretly scattered around I saw some of them at 
work in a large garden in Columbus, Ga., and was 
told that they were docile and quickly learned to dig 
and to hoe but that it was hard to teach them to eat 
cooked m.eat. They wanted it raw and bloody. They 
were miserable little runts, ''Guinea negroes," with 
thick lips and flat noses; but they grew up into bet- 
ter shape and made good servants and I know were 
far better off than in their native jungles, the prey of 
stronger tribes and made food for cannibals. 

No, there was no sin in slavery as instituted in the 
South by our fathers and forefathers, and that is 
why I write this letter — perhaps the last I shall ever 
write on this subject. I wish to impress it upon 
our boys and girls so that they may be ready and 
willing to defend their Southern ancestors from the 
baseless charge of suffering now for the sins of their 
fathers. 



Bill Arp. 385 



CHAPTER LIII. 



Children a Heritage From the Lord. 

Lord Bacon said that children are hostages to for- 
tune and impediments to great enterprises. He had 
none to trouble him and no doubt found more time 
to study and become a great man, but his philosoph- 
ical attainments did not save him from disgrace. 
Perhaps some children would have saved him, even 
though the world would have lost his philosophy. 
Shakespeare had but one son, and he died in early 
youth and the family name became extinct in the 
second generation. Neither Dr. Johnson nor Charles 
Lamb nor Hood nor Tom Moore left children, and 
Burns only two. Sir Isaac Newton was never mar- 
ried, nor was Pope or Goldsmith or Whitfield. By- 
ron had one child, a daughter. Calvin married a 
widow with four children, but died without any of 
his own. John Wesley married a widow, but she ran 
away from him three times. The last time he 
wouldn't let her come back, but wrote: "I did not 
forsake her; I did not expel her; I will not recall 
her. ' ' Martin Luther married a nun, as he said : "To 
please his father and tease the pope and vex the 
devil." I have noticed in my reading that almost all 
the great thinkers, philosophers and statesmen died 
childless or left but one or two children. Wa?^0'ii:]r;'- 



386 Bill Arp. 

ton had none, nor General Jackson nor Polk nor 
Madison. Pierce had only two, but they died before 
he did. Neither Jefferson or Monroe left any son. 
Webster left one ; he was killed at Bull Run and the 
family name dropped out. John Randolph was never 
married, and Poe left no children. Neither Toombs 
nor Governor Troup left any son, and Alexander 
Stephens was never married. Dr. Miller died childless 
and the family name dropped out. 

There is something sad and melancholy in notinj^r 
the dropping out of a noble family name for lack of 
children. Now it is more than probable that these 
great men would not have acquired fame or left to 
mankind the benefit of their great achievements if 
numerous children had been born to them and they 
had had to scuffle to maintain and educate them. If 
a father does his duty by his children he will hardly 
have time to acquire either fame or fortune. We 
know from experience at our house that it is an anx- 
ious, earnest struggle to raise ten children in a way 
that will make them love us and love home and cher- 
ish the memories of their youthful days. It is sad 
for a man or a woman to have to look back to a hard, 
unhappy childhood. But which is best for a man — 
children or great enterprises? The one is a com- 
pliance with nature and the divine law — the other a 
gratification of man's selfish ambition. The proper 
raising of a family of children is the biggest thing 
in this life. In many cases marriages are unhappy 
and the children a curse, but there is no good excuse 



Bill Arp. 387 

for the average man not seeking a mate. Of course 
there are exceptions, but the universal law is that 
woman was created for man and that her highest duty 
is to be a mother to his children. No wife is happy 
without children. 

Children are a heritage from the Lord, and no- 
body but the Lord knows where they came from or 
why they came at all. David says: ''Blessed is he 
who hath his quiver full. ' ' A child should be taught 
early that he or she was created in the image of God. 
The Bible says so. It will beget a self-respect and 
perhaps prevent intemperance and bad conduct. 

When King Henry II. was making a tour of his 
kingdom his subjects met him on the way and gave 
him great ovations and made presents to him and 
his courtiers, but one humble peasant came and 
brought nothing. Count Abensberry said to him: 
"What have you got to present to his majesty, the 
king?" "Nothing," said he; "nothing but my chil- 
dren," and he then marched them out and caused 
them to salute him. There were twenty-two of them, 
and he said: "May it please your majesty, these are 
my treasures — the children of two mothers. They 
are all farmers and raise produce for your subjects 
in peace and will defend you in war." The king 
gave him a goodly present and his blessing and said 
to his courtiers : ' ' This poor man 's gift is the richest 
that I have yet found." 

But I don't believe in twenty-two children in one 
family. Ten are enough. If the number could be 



388 Bill Arp. 

regulated I would say that six or eight would be a 
good average; but we have none to spare at our 
house. One child is better than none, but if that one 
be lost there is none to cling to or caress and the 
home is desoluate. One child is apt to be spoiled and 
selfish. The best thing for a lone boy who is over- 
indulged at home is to send him to school early and 
let him get a licking now and then from other boys 
until he learns to give and take. Two boys are far 
better than one, for they can be companions and help 
one another. Two daughters are better than one, for 
they can counsel each other and go around and visit 
together and keep each other's little secrets. A num- 
erous flock of children strengthens the family and 
makes it more respectable in the community. It makes 
it strong and influential in the church and Sabbath- 
school. By and by the children get married and that 
brings in more strength to the family. 

Then again there is economy in it, for the good 
mother can hand down many of the garments of the 
older ones to the younger. If the outside ones are too 
much Vv'orn, there are lots of little petticoats and 
drawers and out-grown pants that come in handy. 
My wife says that these ''hand-me-downs," as she 
calls them, have saved her many a weary stitch. I 
know a litle handsome grandson who is now wearing a 
nice suit made of a discarded cloak of mine. Another 
advantage is that the older ones can help the younger 
in their lessons, and this has saved my wife and I 
lots of time and perplexing care. And so, although 



Bill Arp. 389 

the oldest boy or girl gets no hand-downs but has 
every garment span new, they have to help the 
younger ones in various ways — even to nursing the 
baby when mother is sick or busy. There is no law of 
primogeniture in this country; no English law that 
gives the paternal estate to the first born ; but all have 
to share and share alike and contribute to the family 
welfare. From my window I see my neighbor's boys 
working the garden, and they have a good one and 
take a pride in it. They find ample time to go to 
school and to play ball, but will not neglect the 
garden. 

But alas ! there is a shadow over every large family. 
The time will surely come when it will be broken 
up — either by marriage of the children or emigra- 
tion of the boys to some distant region. "When they 
leave us for good the father is sad and the mother's 
eyes are often dimmed with tears. For two years 
we have not seen our youngest boy, who cast his 
fortunes with a companion in the City of Mexico. 
But he is coming soon and the mother is waiting, hope- 
fully and prayerfully waiting. We have one in New 
York, one in Texas, and one in Florida, but they are 
good to write to us and cheer us up, and there is 
no blight or cloud over them. What a comfort there 
is in good loving letters from far-off children. A 
good mother writes me that her married daughter 
lives in Australia and her monthly letters are her 
greatest blessing. I know of nothing that pays such 
good dividends upon its cost as a loving letter from 



390 Bill Aep. 

an absent child or from a far-off friend. Only a little 
spare time and two cents will bring pleasure that 
money cannot buy — more than ever have I noticed 
this since I have been sick. Even the sympathetic 
letters from unknown friends have brought me com- 
fort. I wish I could answer them all and say, as 
Paul said to Timothy, "See how long a letter I have 
written to you with mine own hand." 

P. S. — I have lost a letter from a Mr. Lilly and 
wish he would send me his address again. I have 
found his book. 



Bill Arp. 391 



CHAPTER LIV. . 



WlLLL\M AND HiS WlFE ViSIT THE CiTY. 

The old carpet in the family room has been down 
and up and up and down for seventeen years. It 
has been the best carpet we ever had. It used to be 
the parlor carpet but was reduced to a lower rank 
a long time ago. Time and children and dogs and 
cats and brooms have worked on it until it is faded 
and slick and threadbare. The colors are gone and so 
are the figures and the fuz and the nap, but it is a 
carpet still. It has been taken up and hung on the 
fence and beaten with thrash poles about seventeen 
times, and yet there is not a hole in it. In its aristo- 
cratic days it bore the burden of aristocratic shoes 
and fancy slippers, and music and song and love 
making, and the parlor dance, and the family wed- 
dings. Its downy flowers treasured many a secret and 
many a joy. But in course of time it ceased to be the 
pride of the family and became its servant. We 
have raised children on that carpet — rough boys and 
romping girls. We have raised dogs and cats. It 
has been the mudsills of a nursery and a menagerie 
and a schoolroom and a circus. As its colors disap- 
peared in the middle and around the hearthstone, 
Mrs. Arp would take it up and change corners and 
bring to the front a brighter portion that lay hidden 



392 Bill Arp. 

under the bed and the bureau and the sofa. She has 
done this so often that there is little difference now. 
Every part has traveled the grand rounds over and 
over again. 

Mrs. Arp has been hinting about a new carpet for 
some time. We could do without it if I couldn't 
afford it, she said, and I must have a talma cloak 
anyhow, and the children needed so many things, but 
she didn't want anything for herself. Of course she 
didn't. I didn't give her a chance. I keep her sup- 
plied. I never said anything — I just looked into the 
fire and ruminated. She knows my weakness. It's 
all honey and sugar and a little flattery thrown in. 
When it comes to driving and bulldozing I am an 
austere man, I am, and she knows it. 

She said last week that she had promised Ralph 
to go down to Atlanta and see him, and while there 
she could get a cloak and some little things for the 
children for Christmas. "I'll go with you," said I. 
"I wish to see Ralph, too, and keep him encouraged. 
I think he will make a pretty good doctor in ten or 
fifteen years, if he keeps on studying and cutting up 
stiffs and holding the candle for Dr. Westmoreland. 
He uses powerful big words now for a boy of his size. 
He talks about anesthetics and antiskeptics, and the 
like." It wasn't much trouble to get her off, and she 
never said nary time that she had nothing to wear. 
She has just got past that at last. We took one of 
the girls along as a chaperone, for my wife and I 
haven't kept up with city style and street behavior 



Bill Arp. 393 

and how to shop and look at fine things like we were 
used to them. We had hardly got off the ears when 
she met an old friend and hngged and kissed her, and 
they got to talking about old times and somebody that 
was dead, and my wife she got full in the throat and 
watery in the eyes, and they blocked up the sidewalk 
and everybody had to walk around them, and so to 
prevent a scene our chaperone dissolved the inter- 
view and we hurried on to Whitehall. It has been 
built up wonderfully since Mrs. Arp was there, and 
the show windows are just beautiful beyond descrip- 
tion. She stopped squarely before the first jewelry 
store and feasted her hazel eyes in rapturous amaze- 
ment. "Did you ever in your life? Isn't that per- 
fectly lovely? Do look at that little cherub swing- 
ing to that clock for a pendulum. I wonder if those 
are real diamonds in those brooches. Oh, my! see 
that beautiful breastpin. Wouldent Jessie love to 
wear that. Poor thing, she has never had a nice pin, ' ' 
The chaperone began to take on a little, too, and the 
passing crowd had to go round us again, and some of 
them looked back and smiled, and that made me mad, 
and so I took my women folks away from there and 
remarked: f I wouldn't stop to look at everything. 
People will think you never saw anything pretty or 
fine in your life." Mrs. Arp prouded up her head 
and said: ''What do I care for people. The mer- 
chants put their finest things in the windows to be 
looked at, and I am going to look just as much as 
I please," and she stopped squarely against another 



394 Bill Arp. 

window and began the inspection of those lovely la- 
dies' shoes. Mrs. Arp goes perfectly daft on fine shoes 
— No. 2s. Daft is the word she uses on me sometimes, 
but I don't know what it means. She says I prom- 
ised her thirteen pair a year before she married me. 
One pair a month and one pair over. Maybe I did, 
but I've forgotten all those things. They were not 
said in a lucid interval. ' ' Now buy your shoes, ' ' said 
I, ' ' and let us move on to the carpet store ; it will be 
dinner time directly." She looked at me in sweet 
surprise and followed me like a lamb, for I hadent 
mentioned the carpet before. We went to the carpet 
store, and there were so many beautiful patterns that 
she couldent decide on any. The carpet men unrolled 
piece after piece, and sent the rolls whirling away 
down the room and then back again, and they kept 
getting lovelier and lovelier, and the price higher and 
higher, until my wife sighed, and said: "Well, let us 
go now ; we will come back again after awhile. ' ' I fol- 
lowed them around meekly, and, as we passed a 
French clock, I pointed to the hour, and it was 2 
o'clock p. m. "Only an hour and a half longer to 
stay," said I, "and we have had no dinner." They 
didn't seem to be worried about the dinner, and made 
a final assault upon another carpet store, and I had to 
settle it at last and make a choice for them. I always 
do. I used to be a merchant, and kept the finest and 
prettiest goods in town. I used to sell Mrs. Arp fine 
dressing when she was a miss, and she wouldn't trade 
anywhere else, and it took her a long time to make up 



Bill Arp. 395 

her mind, and I had to make it up for her just as I 
do now. She never traded much at any other store, 
and, to my opinion, there is about as much courting 
done over the counter by day as in the parlor by night. 
After we were married she traded with me altogether. 
Thirty-six yards of carpeting was all that I had bar- 
gained for when I left home, but there was a rug and 
a hassock and two pairs of shoes and some sylabub 
stuff for ruffles and flounces and a few Christmas 
things, and by the time we got to Durand's we had 
only twenty minutes for dinner. We were all happy 
and hungry, too, and the dinner was splendid, and 
my wife brought home a basket of fruit for the chil- 
dren, and she told them all about the big day's work, 
and the beautiful things, and whom she saw, and I 
reckon it was worth the money that was spent and 
more too. The carpet came along in due time all ready 
made, and three of the children were at school, and 
didnt know it, and we hurried up and took everything 
out of the room and bid farewell to the old one, and 
cleaned up the straw and the dust, and washed up 
the floor and the windows, and put down the paper, 
and the carpet on top of it, and pulled, and stretched, 
and tugged and tacked until it was all right. Then we 
put the furniture all back just like it was, and sat 
down before the fire just like nothing had happened, 
and in about ten minutes the school chaps came sing- 
ing up to the back door and walked in upon us before 
they had time to look down, and it was worth $5 more 
to hear the raptures and adjectives and adverbs and 



396 Bill Arp. 

exclamation points and other parts of speech that they 
indulged in when their wondering eyes feasted upon 
the rich brown colors under their feet. If I was rich 
I would buy another right away just to have another 
good time Avith Mrs. Arp and the children. 

But we didn't have the pleasure of Ralph's com- 
pany at last. I found him at Dr. Westmoreland's with 
his sleeves rolfed up, helping the doctor to mend a 
man's broken arm. They had a little tub half full of 
plaster paris in solution, and a lot of bandage rolls 
in it, getting saturated. They set the bones and kept 
the arm pulled straight, while the bandages were 
wrapped from wrist to elbow, and elbow to wrist, 
and wrapped again and again, and the plaster 
hardened as fast as it was rolled on, and in a few min- 
utes it was hard as chalk and nearly half an inch 
thick, and the man's arm was in a vice. He was soon 
dismissed, and the doctor said ''next." Then there 
was a man whose hand was crushed between the cars, 
and another had an awful splinter thrust into his 
stomach, and a child with a grain of coffee in her 
lungs and her throat had to be cut open. It is cutting 
and mending and sewing up human flesh and bones all 
the day long, and blood is as common as water. There 
is no time for sympathy or tender words. It is busi- 
ness — hard, stern business, and the signal word is 
"next." May the Lord keep us all and preserve us 
from such calamities. 



Bill Arp. 397 



CHAPTER LV. 



The Buzzard Lope. 
-■ 

I'm going to quit thinking about the race problem, 
and the tariff, and Speaker Reed, and John Wana- 
maker, and everything else of a turbulent and transi- 
tory nature. I'm going to boycott everything now 
except domestic affairs. I'm going to attend to my 
own business. I'm going to stay at home and work, 
and if I read a paper at all it will be with one eye on 
the head lines and nothing else. 

They say that exercise is a remedy for trouble — 
trouble of mind or trouble of body. Get up and move 
around lively. My old father was afflicted with rheu- 
matism, and when the sharp pains began to worry him 
he would take his long stick and start out over the 
farm and limp, and grunt, and drag himself along 
until he got warmed up, and in an hour or so would 
come back feeling better. A man can mope and brood 
over his troubles until, as Cobe says, ''they get more 
thicker and more aggrevatiner. " He told me that he 
had tried liver medicine and corn juice and various 
"anecdotes" for disease, but that a right good sweat 
of perspiration was the best thing for a man or a 
beast. He used to cure mules of the colic by trotting 
them around until the sweat come. 



398 Bill Arp. 

I haven't got the colic nor the rheumatism, but I 
feel such a constant uxorial goneness that I have to 
step around lively to forget myself. I feel just like I 
had lost my tobacco. The sparrows are regaling on 
my strawberries. The happy mocking birds are sing- 
ing their tee diddle and too doodle, and the lordly pea- 
cock screams and struts and spreads his magnificent 
tail, and all nature seems gay and joyous, but how 
can the lord of creation sing a glad song when his 
lady is far away in a strange land? A letter from 
there says: ''Mamma is having a good time and be- 
having so nice to everybody." Of course, of course. 
And I 'm nice to everybody here — especially the ladies. 
Some of them come every day — come to comfort me, 
they say. I 'm having a pretty good time considering. 
We had some fine music last night — some of the hoya 
came home with Carl to practice for a serenade to the 
spring chickens. They had a guitar and some harps 
and a triangle, and were right good singers besides, 
and I enjoyed it immensely. Jessie is a musician, too, 
and when she struck the ivory key with some saluta- 
tory notes like, "Oh Jinny is your Ash-cake Done," 
and "The Highland Fling" and "Kun Nigger Run," 
accompanied by the sweet harmonicas and the guitar, 
I just couldent keep my old extremities subdued, and 
they got me up and toted me around on light fantastic 
toes amazing. I was all by myself in the next room, 
but I had lots of fun. It does a man good sometimes 
to unbend himself and forget his antiquity. I like a 
little hornpipe or a pigeon wing on the sly sometimes. 



Bill Arp. 399 

It may be original sin, or it may be that there is a time 
to dance, as Solomon says, but I like it. My beard is 
growing gray, and there 's not many hairs between my 
head and the cerulean heavens, but I 'm obliged to have 
some recreation, especially when Mrs. Arp is away. 
You ought to see me caper around to the music with a 
little grand-child, a three-year-old who chooses me for 
a partner whenever the music begins. She knows the 
dancing tunes as well as I do, bless her little heart. My 
boys have got a new step now that they call the ' ' buz- 
zard lope," that is grand, lively and peculiar. The 
story goes that an old darkey lost his aged mule, and 
found him one Sunday evening lying dead in the 
woods and forty-nine buzzards feasting upon his car- 
cass. Forty-eight of them flew away, but the forty- 
ninth, whose feathers were gray with age, declined to 
retire. Looking straight at the darkey, he spread his 
wings about half-and-half, like the American eagle on 
a silver dollar, and tucked his tail under his body and 
drew in his chin and pulled down his vest and began 
to lope around the dead mule in a salutatory manner. 
He was a greedy bird and liked his meat served rare, 
and rejoiced that he now had the carcass all to himself, 
and so he loped around with alacrity. The old darkey 
was a fiddler and dancer by instinct and inspiration. 
He had plaj^ed prompter for the white folks at a thou- 
sand frolics, and knev/ every step and turn and fling 
of the heel-tap and the toe, but he had never seen 
such a peculiar double demi-semi-quiver shuffle as that 
old buzzard loped around that mule. Pie stood aghast. 



400 Bill Arp. 

He spread his arms just half-and-half, and bent his 
back in the middle, unlimbered his ankle joints, 
stiffened his elbows, and forgetting both the day and 
the place, he followed that bird around that mule for 
four solid hours and caught the exquisite lope exactly. 
At dusk the tired buzzard souzed his beak into one of 
dead mule's eyes and bore it away to his roost, while 
the old darkey loped all the way home to his cabin 
door, feeling ten years younger for his masterpiece. 
The buzzard lope suits an old man splendid, for it is 
best performed with rheumatism in one leg and St. 
Vitus dance in the other, and it is said to be a sover- 
eign remedy for both. 

Some folks don't care much about music — some 
don't care anything about dancing, but some folks 
like both because it is their nature and they can 't help 
it. It is just as natural for children to love to dance 
to the harmony of sweet sounds as it is for them to 
love to play marbles or jump the rope, or any other 
innocent sport. The church allows its members to pat 
the foot to music, but condemn dancing because it 
leads to dissipation and bad company; but we 
shouldn't let it lead the young folks that way. The 
church condemns minstrel shows and minstrel songs, 
but has lately stolen from them some of their sweetest 
tunes, and set them to sacred verse, and is all the bet- 
ter for it. Who does not appreciate the "Lilly of the 
Valley ' ' that is now sung to the ' ' Cabin in the Lane ? ' ^ 
Puritanism, and penance, and long faces, and assumed 
distress are passing away. The Methodist discipline 



Bill Arp. 401 

that forbade jewelry, and ornaments, and fine dress- 
ing has become obsolete, for it was against nature. 
"What our Creator has given us to enjoy, let us enjoy 
in reason and in season and be all the more thankful 
for His goodness. 

I believe in music. Joseph Henry Lumpkin, our 
great chief justice, said there was music in all things 
except the braying of an ass or the tongue of a scold. 
I believe in the refining infiuences of music over the 
young, and if an occasional dance at home or in the 
parlor of a friend will make the young folks happy, 
let them be happy. I read Dr. Calhoun's beautiful 
lecture that he delivered before the Atlanta Medical 
College — a lecture on the human throat as a musical 
instrument — and I was charmed with its science, its 
instruction, and its literary beauty. I read part of it 
to those boys who were practicing for the serenade — 
about the wonders of the human larynx, that in ordi- 
nary singers could produce a hundred and twenty dif- 
ferent sounds, and fine singers like Jenny Lind could 
produce a thousand, and Madam Mora, whose voice 
compassed three octaves, could produce two thousand 
one hundred different notes ; and about Farinelli, who 
cured Philip V., king of Spain, of a dreadful malady 
by singing to him, and after he was fully restored he 
was afraid of a relapse and hired Farinelli to sing to 
him every night at a salary of fifty thousand francs, 
and he sang to him as David harped for Saul. Music 
fills up so many gaps in the family. The young peo- 
ple can't work and read and study all the time. They 

(14) 



402 Bill Arp. 

must have recreation, and it is better to have it at 
home than hunt for it elsewhere. If the old folks 
mope and grunt and complain around the house, it 
is no wonder that the children try to get away. And 
they will get away if they have to marry to do it. J 
have known girls to marry very trifling lovers because 
they were tired of home. This reminds me of a poor 
fellow who was hard pressed by a creditor to whom 
he owed forty dollars. He came to employ us to get 
a homestead for him so as to save his little farm. "Are 
you a married man?" said I. ''No, I aint," said he. 
"Well, you will have to get married before you can 
take a homestead. Is there no clever girl in your na- 
borhood whom you have a liking for ? ' ' He looked 
straight in the fire for a minute or more, and then 
rose up and shook his long, sandy hair, and said: 
"Gentlemen, the jig are up. I'll have to shindig 
around and get that money, for I'll be dogond if I'll 
get married for forty dollars. Good mornin'." 

We are working hard, now, renovating and repair- 
ing the home inside and outside. We have white- 
washed the fence all round, and the barn and coal- 
house, and chicken house, and all. We have painted 
the gates a lovely red, and striped the greenhouse, and 
Carl wanted to stripe the calf with the same color, 
as a meandering ornament to the lawn, but he couldn 't 
catch him. I have planted out Maderia vines and Vir- 
ginia creepers and tomato plants, and we have de- 
clared war against the English sparrows that destroy 
more strawberries than we get. We will have things 



Bill Arp. 403 

fixed up when the maternal comes home. I reckon she 
will come sometime — come home spoiled like I do as 
when I take a trip oif and am petted up by genial 
friends. It will take us a week to get her back in the 
harness, but it won't take her half that long to get us 
back. We've got two picnics on hand, and a fishing 
frolic, and there are five pretty girls from Cement 
coming here tonight, and on the whole I don't think 
I am as lonesome as I think I am. 

' ' So here 's a health to her who 's away. ' ' 



404 Bill Arp. 



CHAPTER LVI. 



Up Among The Stars. 

I was talking to the children the other night about 
astronomy, and I said: ''I am a traveler — a great 
traveler. I have traveled forty thousand million of 
miles in my life. I was born traveling. I can beat 
railroads and telegraphs. When I travel I make 68,- 
000 miles an hour, and don 't exert myself a bit. I can 
make over 1,500,000 miles in a day and turn a sum- 
merset 8,000 miles high in the bargain — I turn one 
every day when I am on the road. I traveled nearly 
600,000,000 miles last year." 

And so I made the children figure it all up so as 
to impress upon them the immensity of space and the 
mighty power of God. I know an old man — a lawyer 
— who didn't believe in any of these things. He said 
it was not according to scripture. He didn't believe 
the earth was round or that it turned over. He said 
the scriptures spoke of the ends of the earth, and the 
four corners of the earth, and that Joshua commanded 
the sun to stand still just like he did the moon, and 
they both stood still. We used to argue with him, and 
tell him that navigators had sailed all around the 
earth, but is was no use, and we gave him up. 

I know lots of sensible people who don't believe that 
astronomers know anything about these immense dis- 



Bill Arp. 405 

tances and orbits and weights of the planets. They 
say it is all guess work, pretty much, and that it is im- 
possible to tell how far it is from one place to another, 
or one planet to another without measuring it with a 
chain or a rod-pole or a string or something. And 
here is where a higher education comes in and broad- 
ens the mind and elevates it to a higher plane. There 
is no science so exact and so fully established as as- 
tronomy. The distance from here to Atlanta is not 
so accurately known as the earth's orbit around the 
sun. A great astronomer like Herschel or Newton or 
La Place can look through the telescope at Jupiter's 
moons when they are in an eclipse, and then mix up a 
few logorithms and fluxions and parallaxes and tell 
how fast light travels and how far it is to the remotest 
planet in the universe. 

The children wanted to know why the new year be- 
gan with January, and I couldent tell them. Christ- 
mas would have been a better day. The new era should 
have begun with the birth of Christ instead of a week 
later; or the year should begin with the birth of 
spring — the 21st of March — when nature is putting 
on new garments. Those old philosophers got things 
awfully mixed up anyhow. Their years used to be 
measured by the moon, and they had thirteen months, 
but that dident fit, and so they fell back to ten months 
of thirty-six days each, and that dident fit, and next 
and at last Pope Gregory fixed the measure all right — 
just as we have it now. 



406 Bill Arp. 

It was only in the last century that the civilized 
nations adopted the new time. Russia hasent 
adopted it yet; but I don't know whether she is civ- 
ilized or not. 

January was a right good name for the first month. 
He was a watchful old fellow and had two faces, and 
could look before him and behind him at the same 
time. It is a good idea for a man to look back over 
the year that has gone and review his conduct, and 
then look forward and promise to do better. But most 
of the months were named for heathen gods who never 
existed, and so were the days of the week. I wish the 
school children would read about them and be able to 
answer what March means, and April and Wednesday 
and Thursday, and the other names. Gather knowl- 
edge as you go along — useful knowledge — and store it 
away. If you havent got the books borrow them from 
somebody and read. I asked two young men yesterday 
how far it was to the sun, and they had no idea. 

1891. There is meaning in those figures. Every 
time they are written on a letter head or a ledger or a 
bank check or a note or a hotel register, or printed on 
a newspaper, they mean something. The pens of 
Christians and infidels and skeptics and agnostics and 
Jews and Gentiles are all writing it visible and indeli- 
ble upon the paper. Every day, every hour, every 
minute, it is being written all over the world, and 
every mark establishes a fact — a great fact — that 1891 
years ago there was a birth — a notable birth — and old 
Father Time began a new count and called it Anno 



Bill Arp. 407 

Domini. What a wonderful event it must have been 
that closed the record of the ages and started time on 
a new cycle. How in the world did it happen? The 
Greeks had their calendar and the Eomans had theirs, 
and the Jev/s had one that was handed down by Moses, 
but all of them were overshadowed by the one that a 
handful of Chritsians set up, and for 1400 years the 
Anno Domini has given a date to every birth and 
death and event in the civilized world. It seems to me 
that if I was an infield I would not place these figures 
at the top of my letters. I would not dignify the birth 
of a child that way; I would rather write 5894 as the 
date of the creation. But, no, if I did not credit Moses 
and the prophets, I couldent choose that date, and so 
I would have no date — no era to begin with. The 
Greeks had their Oljnnpiads to date from, and the 
Komans the birth of their ancient city, and the Mo- 
hammedans the flight of Mohamet, but a modern ag- 
nostic has nothing. If we was an American, I suppose 
he might begin with the Declaration of Independence, 
and say January 114. The Jew is better off, for he 
has a faith — a faith as strong as the ages — and his 
era goes back to Moses and the prophets, but even he 
has to conform to the Anno Domini of the Christian 
in all his business relations with mankind. If he was 
to date a business letter or make out a bill of goods 
according to his faith it would be returned to him for 
explanations. What a wonderful thing is this date 
— these four simple figures. We write them and write 
them, but we seldom ponder on what they prove. 



408 Bill Arp. 

On New Year's night I was talking to the children 
about these things, and about the long journey we 
had taken since the last New Year. We have gotten 
back to the same place in the universe and have trav- 
eled nearly three hundred millions of miles. Talk 
about your cannon ball trains and your lightning ex- 
press! Why, we have been running a schedule of 
thirty thousand miles an hour and never stopped for 
coal or water and never had a jostle or put on a brake 
nor greased a wheel. Other trains have crossed our 
track, and we have crossed theirs, but there was no 
danger signal, no sign board, no red flag, no watch- 
man. Was there ever an engineer so reckless of hu- 
man life? Fifteen hundred millions of passengers 
aboard, and they sleep half the time. Did ever pas- 
sengers ride so trustingly? And what is more won- 
derfull still, our train has a little fun on the way, 
and every day turns a somersault twenty-five thousand 
miles round just for the enjoyment and health of the 
passengers. Turns over as it goes, turns at a speed 
of a thousand miles an hour and never loses an inch 
of space or a moment of time. Wouldn't it be big 
fun if we could stand off away from the train and 
see it roll on and turn as it rolled and see the passen- 
gers all calm and serene? It seems to me that if I 
was an infidel or an agnostic I would want to get off 
this train — a train without an engineer — a train that 
has got loose from somewhere and is running wild 
at the rate of five hundred miles a minute. Talk 
about you Pullman sleepers and vestibule and dining- 



Bill Akp. 409 

room cars! Why, this train carries houses and gar- 
dens and fruit trees and everything good to eat. It is 
a family train, and the family goes along with their 
nabors and the preacher and the doctor; and the 
graveyard is carried along, too, so that if anybody 
dies on the way the train don't have to stop for a 
funeral. It is well that it don't, for the passengers 
are dying at the rate of a hundred a minute and the 
train would never get anywhere if it had to stop to 
bury the dead. 

Then we children got to talking about the centuries 
away back, when the months and the years were un- 
settled and nobody seemed to know how long a year 
was or how to divide it; when the changes of the 
moon were a bigger thing than going round the sun; 
when there were only ten months in a year, and the 
year was only three hundred and sixty days, and so 
January kept falling back until it got to be summer 
instead of winter; when there were no weeks, except 
among the Jews, and the month was divided by the 
Greeks and Romans into three decades of ten days 
each ; when Julius Ca3sar tried to regulate the calendar 
and made the year three hundred and sixty-five days 
and gave a leap year of tliree hundred and sixty-six. 
But that didn't work exactly right, for it made leap 
year eleven minutes too long and so, as the centuries 
rolled on, it was found in 1582 that old Father Time 
had gained twelve days on himself, or on the sun or 
something else, and Pope Gregory concluded to set the 
old fellow back a peg or two, and he did. If a pope 



410 Bill Arp. 

could make us all twelve days younger when he 
pleased to do it he would be a very popular man, I 
reckon. But the calendar is all right now, and the 
civilized world has adopted it. It is eleven minutes 
fast every four years, but as the year 1900 is not to 
be a leap year the gain will be canceled when that 
year comes. Leap year used to double the sixth day 
of March instead of adding a day to February, and 
so it was called the bi-sextile year. It is w^ell for the 
children to know these things for they are worth know- 
ing. 



311-77-9 



